And So Life Goes On
by Nenya Entwhistle
Summary: (COMPLETE) One day, everything changes. All it takes is for Harry to bump into an unexpected person from his past... who tells him all the lies his friends and lover have been keeping from him. What then does Harry do but live life as best he can?
1. It's Friday Again

**AND SO LIFE GOES ON  
**_part of "The Aevum Series"  
_by Nenya Entwhistle

Thanks to my wonderful betas: **Ziasudra** and **Lesameschelle** for everything they've done.  
Story Note: This was written to be a "thinking" almost literary type fanfic, but here's a clue so you don't think it's just bad writing b/c everything is deliberate. Past tense is for past scenes, and present tense is for present scenes. Also, they tend to alternate.

Chapter One  
It's Friday Again

The alarm clock rings. He wakes up and grabs his glasses, looks at the calendar and notes that it's Friday again. Every Friday is a little different, but a little similar. He wonders if it is going to be a slow, chatty type of Friday or if it is going to be more of the hectic, do everything kind of Friday. Either way, he knows that when he gets off from work, he will go to meet his pals at the usual place. It is always Ron's house at 5:30 sharp unless he wants to be at the end of Hermione's badgering.

He kicks his covers off, rolls out of bed, and stumbles over to the loo. He shucks his pajama bottoms and takes his half-hard cock into his hand. He strokes and thinks that it won't take long to wank, but he really doesn't have the time. He vaguely recalls pushing the snooze button more than once, and he knows he's probably running rather late. He sighs and takes a morning piss instead.

A hot shower, he thinks, is just the thing to wake him up. He takes off his shirt and tosses it to the ground. Hopping into the shower, he yelps when cold, then lukewarm, then finally warm water from the showerhead sprays his skin. He washes his hair and lathers his body up with soap. He rests his forehead against the cool tile and allows the water to wash his body off for him. He closes his eyes and thinks he'd really like to go back to sleep.

He slips, and his green eyes snap open. His body jerks in an awkward position before he braces himself against the wall. Shaking his head, he grabs his towel and dries himself. He brushes his teeth, and looks with resigned eyes at the black mess that is his hair, so like a bird's nest. One of these days, he hopes that his hair will finally be tamed. Unfortunately, today's not the day. He sighs and swallows a few pills that are part his daily medicine regimen.

The razor is in his hand when his mobile rings. He drops the razor and wipes the remainder of the shaving cream off his face. Running to answer his call, he is glad that he was nearly done shaving. He flips open his mobile and says, "Hello?"

"Hey, Harry. It's me."

"Ron," he says, grinning. "How are you?"

"I'm good, I'm good." There is a slight pause, as if Ron has lost his train of thought. "So… are you coming tonight?"

"Yeah," he answers. "I'm coming."

"Good, that's great," Ron says. "Everyone will be happy to see you."

Harry opens his closet and grabs a random shirt. "Who's going to be there?"

"The usual," Ron replies. "Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna."

Harry pulls a pair of jeans out of his drawer. "Sounds good."

"Anything in particular you want to do?"

"No, not really."

"All right then, I guess we'll come up with plans when you get here?"

"I guess so," he says. "Look Ron, I'm going to be late—"

"Are you still working at that children's shelter?"

He doesn't know why Ron asks this question. "It's why I'm going to hang up on you unless you let me say good-bye."

"Harry—" Ron begins, then breaks and then asks, "have you taken your medicine today?"

And so _this_ is the real reason Ron called, he thinks. Harry does not understand why Ron asks this nearly every time he calls. He always takes his medicine. He knows he has to. "Yeah, I have. I take it every morning, Ron."

He hears Ron's relief when he says, "I'll see you at 5:30."

"See you then," Harry echoes and hangs up.

He puts his shirt on, pulls his jeans up, grabs his stuff and runs out of his flat. He hopes he did not forget anything. Not that he has time to go back and get it, if he had. He does not have to look at his watch to know that he is running late. He has this feeling, of things that are beyond him, things that he knows.

-

Last Friday, it had just been Ron, Hermione, and him. The trio, they said. Too bad, instead of feeling part of the group, he felt like a third wheel. He felt awkward, being around them when they were together. Not that he begrudged them their relationship, he just never considered being with either of them like that, and he did not see how they could. One of those mysteries of the world that eluded him he supposed.

"Harry," he heard Ron calling, "you there?"

He smiled, blinking away his thoughts. "So what are we ordering for take-away?"

"I was thinking Chinese," Hermione replied, pushing some stray hair behind her ear. "We don't eat enough ethnically different food, and there's an excellent selection of Chinese food around here. We ought to try it."

Ron frowned. "So pizza's out of the question?"

Harry chuckled when Hermione chunked a piece of paper at Ron. "I think it is, Ron."

For a moment, there was something in Ron's eyes that seemed off. But it must have been him because when Harry looked again it's not there. Instead, he saw Ron bending over to pick up the piece of paper. Before tossing it into the rubbish can, Ron tilted his head and said, "It's not just me, mate, is it? Pizza's good stuff!"

"It is," Harry murmured, earning himself a glare from Hermione.

He and Ron shared a secret smile when Hermione started to launch into her cultural speech: "You two don't take advantage of what London has to offer. If you were living in a small town of some sort, you'd be eager to experience everything London has, but because you're here you don't take advantage of it! I…"

-

It was Hermione that found him a job. She saw an ad in the paper about a children's shelter that needed some extraneous help. She thought it would be a good place for him to work, since no experience was necessary and all training that he needed was on-the-job. And he liked being at the shelter. Not only was it something to do, he enjoyed helping kids out. It was a great solution to his problem.

"You're late," Teddy says.

Harry picks the boy up, even though Teddy's probably too old for that sort of thing, and asks, "Why are you outside?"

Teddy really shouldn't be outside. While the children's shelter looks good compared to the buildings around it, it's a downright dump when Harry compares it to where he lives. He wishes the shelter could be in a better part of town, but location-wise this is the best. And besides, the kids here need it.

"Waiting for you," Teddy answers cheekily.

Teddy reminds him of someone, though he cannot put his finger down on as of whom. "You ought to have been waiting inside," Harry admonishes, putting the boy down when they enter the shelter. "It's not the type of street to be loitering around."

"'M not loitering."

Harry glances down at the little imp. "Do you even know what loitering means?"

"It means loitering," is the smart arse's retort. Harry rethinks that Teddy reminds him of someone. In some ways, Teddy does but in other ways, he definitely does not. "Are you gonna make me read a nasty book?"

"Reading's good for you," Harry responds, waving at a colleague who was trying to soothe a crying girl. "It'll help you do better in school, expand your mind and whatnot."

"Bullshit."

"Language," Harry scolds. "Remember, the younger kids."

"And you don't want them picking up bad habits," Teddy drones on. "I get it, I get it."

Harry sighs and steers Teddy into the room that's sort of his office, and sort of the place where the misfits hang out. Already he notices that Vera and Racquel are there. They are arguing over which one of them gets to go get Harry's morning cup of tea. He does not understand the big allure of it, but he tells Vera she can get it since Racquel got it yesterday. Vera runs out beaming, and Racquel starts pouting. In the background, Harry can hear Teddy sorting through the books on the shelf.

He smiles and thinks: _it's going to be another one of those days._

-

When he walked into the children's shelter for the first time, he thought it was unfamiliar and yet familiar at the same time. There was something about the place that reminded him of somewhere. He was not sure if it was just the kids, or if it was their unhappy family situations that he could relate to. Either way, going to the shelter felt like a strange homecoming.

"Hello," a young woman around his age greeted him. "Are you here to donate or maybe to volunteer?"

"He's here to volunteer," Hermione answered for him.

While Hermione and the young woman hashed out the details, his information and situation, he let his eyes wander around the place. He noticed that the building might have looked like a dump on the outside, but was fairly well maintained on the inside. And he saw that there were a lot of kids, of various ages, playing or talking or napping around the place.

One kid, in particular, interested him. The kid had dark hair, a similar shade to his own—but curly rather than just messy, and his eyes are blue instead of green. The boy sat fidgeting in the corner, sometimes looking longingly at the few toys that were being shared around by the others. Harry thought it was weird that he felt an affinity for the kid when he had never been in a circumstance like this before.

"So," the young woman said, startling him, "when would you like to volunteer?"

Harry glanced at her, and then his eyes drifted back to the kids and the blue-eyed boy. "Does everyday sound good?"

He thought he heard Hermione choke, as if she'd been taken back. But it must have been his imagination. He had a pretty vivid one, fantastical, actually. If she had choked, she recovered quickly enough to say, "Are you sure about that, Harry? Everyday is quite the time commitment."

He shrugged. "I've nothing better to do."

The young woman smiled. "That's wonderful! We rarely get volunteers who can commit this kind of time." She held out her hand, and he took it after a moment's hesitation. "It's nice to meet you, Harry."

"Nice to meet you too," he murmured, sifting through his memories trying to recall her name, for it had to have been mentioned earlier in their discussion. "Er…"

"Becky," Hermione said, "her name's Becky."

"Right," he said, throwing her a grateful smile. "Nice to meet you, Becky."

Becky shook his hand and then released it. "Welcome to the staff of the Eastside Children's Shelter."

-

Harry has noticed Teddy's always one of the last children to leave. Becky says it is because he likes to stay with Harry, that if she did not know better she would think Teddy is Harry's son. Harry admits, Ted and him do look eerily alike. When Ron saw a snapshot of Harry and Teddy, he had choked on his tea. Harry supposes, glancing down at the boy, that it'd be a shock.

"Maybe she won't pick me up," Teddy remarks.

It's generally the same comment he makes everyday. Teddy wishes that he did not have to live with his aunt, wishes that his parents were still alive. Harry wishes the same for him, if only wishes came true. "Your aunt's not as bad as you make her out to be," Harry tells him. "She feeds you. I mean compared to what…" his voice trails off as he tries to remember something that he can't quite recall.

"Compared to what?" Teddy asks. "What Harry?"

The boy's looking at him, his big blue eyes earnest and ready to listen. Too bad what he wants to say has blown away like the breeze. "Something I don't remember."

He ought to have said something more positive about Teddy's family life, which could have been worse. After all, some of the kids at the shelter come from abusive homes. Teddy's is just impoverished. Harry feels more sympathy for the other kids, but Teddy's still his favorite even though he should not have favorites. He wants to save Teddy from his miserable life, but how can he save someone when he's being saved himself?

"Don't you hate that?" Teddy mutters.

Sometimes, Harry thinks that Teddy talks too much like an adult. But then, he guesses growing up in the rough parts of town does that to them. Compared to the other kids his age, Teddy has not been around the shelter as long.

"Hate what?"

"Hate forgetting stuff."

Harry shrugs. "It happens, especially when you're me."

Teddy looks perplexed, and looks like he wants to ask something, but he shuts his mouth when he sees his uncle not his aunt. He scrambles to his feet, and smoothes out the creases in his jeans. He forces a smile onto his face. "Hi, Uncle Victor."

Harry notices that Teddy's extra polite. The cheekiness that Harry usually associates with him is gone. Instead, Teddy's face is passive and slightly pale. Harry's only seen the uncle once or twice, and he knows the aunt's okay. So he thinks that maybe the uncle is the reason why Teddy escapes to the shelter. For every kid there was a reason, and Teddy's the one blank slate.

"Come on, boy," the man snaps, and Harry winces. "I don't have all day. Hurry up!"

Harry watches Teddy leave like he does everyday. Today is different though, Teddy drags his feet as if he does not want to leave. He walks, fast and obedient, but his shoulders tell another story. They are slouched like he has been defeated by heavy burden he does not want to bear.

Harry wants to stop him, but he remembers something Becky had said to him in his first year volunteering: _We aren't social workers, Harry. All we do is volunteer work to help the kids that the social workers say don't need a radical change in environment. I know it's hard to do nothing or say nothing, but our job is to nurture the kids here so they can survive there. It's all we can do._

He doesn't like to believe that. He wants there to be something more. But he doesn't know what.

-

On his first day at the job, Hermione insisted on going with him. She wanted to make sure he got there safely, since it was in the slums, and that everything went smoothly. He felt like a preschooler with his mum. He wondered if she was this bad when they were in boarding school together. He did not mind her caring about him, but sometimes she took things too far. He did not need her mothering over him like he was a child, even with what happened.

"Harry, humor me," she said. "You know I'm a bit of a worrywart."

That had to be the understatement of the year. But he held his tongue and nodded complacently instead. "I know." He reminded himself that Hermione had done a lot for him in the past few months. Without her, he did not know where he would be. "It's just, sometimes…"

"I can be a lot to handle," she remarked. "Ron's told me."

Harry smiled weakly and walked up the entrance steps of the shelter. He glanced at her and bit his lip. "You aren't going to go inside with me, are you?"

"Of course, I'm not," she said. "But if you want me to…"

"No!" Harry exclaimed. He saw a trace of amusement cross over her face, and he was glad to see it. It made her look younger, less serious, and more her age. "That's all right."

"I'll see you tonight," Hermione said, looking him in the eye. "You are stopping by Ron's place when you get off, aren't you?"

"Well," he began, he had actually been thinking about going back to his newly rented flat and just being by himself for a change, "I guess I could stop by."

"Wonderful!" She stepped toward him and kissed his cheek. "We'll see you then."

He watched her leave, then took a deep breath before turning to the door. He was about to enter when it flew open and a dark-haired boy shot out. Harry felt all the air knocked out of him as he stumbled backwards and fell onto his arse with at least four stones of additional weight on top of him. There was no sound of bones breaking, though he had not the faintest clue _why_ he would know that sound.

"Theodore Porter!" Harry did not recognize the voice, but when he saw the face he could identify the speaker as Becky, the woman he met a few days ago. "You can't just go barging out of the shelter like that--- oh!" Becky's eyes widened when she saw Harry. Her eyes narrowed when she shifted her gaze toward the boy. "Look at what happened! Apologize at once!"

The boy grinned and placed his small, grubby hands on Harry's cheeks. "I'm sorry, mister, but you really shouldn't have been in my way." Harry felt slightly sticky under the boy's touch. "I'm Teddy. Who are you?"

It was a good question Teddy had asked unknowingly. "You can call me Harry," he said.

-

"I'll see you on Monday, Harry!" Becky exclaims while simultaneously pushing him out of the shelter. "Now go have some fun with your friends! It's a Friday night, for god's sake!"

Harry chuckles and takes her hand, lifting it up to his lips and pressing a kiss on her knuckles. "Shouldn't you listen to your own advice, sometimes?"

Pulling her hand away from him, she shoos him off. "You're not the Director of Eastside, so you can't tell me what to do. I, as your boss, on the other hand, can."

"Right," he mutters and rolls his eyes sarcastically. She swats him over the head with a folder. "Hey! Keep abusing me like this, and I won't come back next week."

She simply grins. "You know, you act a lot like Ted sometimes."

Harry raises an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be saying that he acts a lot like me?"

She shakes her head, and her smile widens. "Of course not, not when you're acting like an immature brat."

He wants to smile, but it falters instead. There is something about what she said that strikes him in a funny way. He shrugs it off and forces himself to smile. "I'll see you next week."

"Bye Harry."

When Harry glances down at his watch, he does not like what he sees. The hour hand is slightly past 5, which is not so bad if the minute hand was not on the 20 mark. He takes off in a dead run, though there is no way the tube is going to get him to Ron's house in time. Already he prepares himself for the onslaught that will be Hermione's lecture on the merits of punctuality.

He turns the corner sharply, and slams into someone—he wonders why this always happen to him—in a body-jarring manner. He has to admire the other man's grace, because not only did the person not fall, he almost manages to save him from falling. Harry sometimes muses that the world is not a fair place, especially when some people seem to have an extraordinary amount of good luck.

"Bloody hell!" Harry hears a young man's voice curse. "It's you. It's really you."

It takes a moment before Harry's eyes focus on the young man. He notes the man's slender build and tall frame. Again, it seems to him that he will always be shorter than other men, except for those yet to reach adulthood like Teddy. Although the young man seems to know him, Harry does not recognize the owner of the pale but beautiful face. The features are aristocratic, almost fragile in a way. But what is most remarkable are the man's grey eyes and white-blond hair.

"I always knew you admired me," the blond man sneers. "Who would have thought all the rumors were correct? That you're hiding in London of all places."

Who is this man? This beautiful, sneering man? "Sorry about that," Harry apologizes, his voice soft and uncertain. "Do I know you?"

The blond man looks taken back for a moment before he clears his face of all emotion. "I know we haven't seen each other for more than 5 years, but I would think you'd remember me."

"I…" Harry begins, and then shakes his head, "I don't remember, no."

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, the blond man looks at Harry from head to toe. Harry feels like he is being deliberately stripped down to his skin. But the overtone of the gaze is not sexual. More intense and thoughtful than anything, but also very, very penetrating.

"Maybe, I'm mistaken," the grey-eyed man says. "My apologies…?"

"It's actually me who should apologize," Harry murmurs, smiling gratefully. It is just a case of mistaken identity. He probably looks like someone the stranger knows—a lot like the person, whoever he is. Easy to be mistaken for someone, in that case. "I was the one who wasn't paying attention to where I was going and all."

"No troubles, no troubles." The blond man returns Harry's smile. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't," Harry replies. "It's Harry Potter."

Again, Harry thinks that his mind is wandering away from him because he swears he sees a flicker of something in the blond man's eyes. He must be losing his mind. He shakes his head hard and blinks furiously. What is wrong with him? Twice in a week, he thinks he sees something that cannot be there! The blond man has already said he was mistaken. But why is there this feeling nagging him that says the man spoke too soon or is lying?

"Harry Potter," the blond man whispers and inclines his head, "a pleasure to meet you."

"And you are…?"

"Draco Malfoy. My name is Draco Malfoy."

-

There had been one Friday where he had been late, but not really late. He could only be late if Hermione was there to reprimand him, otherwise the others would just shrug and continue on with the dinner preparations. Somehow, Hermione managed to arrive a few minutes after him. And Harry tried to act like he had been there since 5:30 like he should have been. But when Hermione started scanning the room, Harry saw a positively impish smile on Ginny's lips.

"Ginny, was Harry here on time?"

"Nope," Ginny responded, and her eyes glitter with a mischievousness that was worthy of the one of the twins. "He only got here five minutes before you did, so he was rather late too."

Harry glared at Ginny, but tensed up when he felt Hermione stalk over to him. It was impressive because he and Hermione are on the same eye level. When she did it to Ron, it just looked cute because Ron has to peer down at her. "Harry Potter," Hermione reprimands, "will you ever be on time?"

"I did try," Harry said, pushing his bottom lip out in what he hoped was pathetic contrite.

"Oh well." She sighed and threw her hands up in the air. "So who wants to tell me what's for dinner?"

-

The door opens to Ron's house with a dramatic flourish. As Harry expects, he sees a grinning Ron and a frowning Hermione. But there is a hint of mischief in Hermione's otherwise stern expression. He knows she is going to lecture him on the principle of punctuality, even though she is not really pissed at him. She says if she did not, then how would he ever feel contrite enough to try to come on time?

"Harry Potter!" Hermione exclaims. "Must you always be late?"

Harry shrugs his shoulders. "I guess so."

She purses her lips and over her shoulder, Ginny winks at him. "Harry, you are still…"

"Give it a rest, love," Ron murmurs, wrapping his arm Hermione's waist affectionately. "He's late, you know he normally is. After all, you're the one who got him his bloody job. If it's anyone's fault, it's yours. He didn't use to be late before he started working at the shelter."

"Of course…" Hermione grumbles. "Blame the one that gives Harry something worthwhile to do with his time!"

Ron's grin merely widens as he pulls her aside so that Harry can come in. "But you can keep reprimanding Harry like a naughty little child if you want."

Glaring at her longtime boyfriend, she presses her lips close and smiles at Harry. "So why were you late?"

"I ran into someone," Harry says.

"Oh," Hermione remarks while shutting the door behind him, "anyone we know?"

He shakes his head. "I mean, I literally ran into someone." He wonders if he should mention that the other person seemed to know him, but he shrugs the thought off. "I was running a little late," he lies, "but I had to stop and help him because I kind of knocked the bloke over. Factor that in, that's why I'm so late."

Hermione rolls her eyes, but links her arm around his to guide him toward the kitchen where Harry can already smell the food cooking. "You're just like Ron," she murmurs, a fond note in her voice. "No wonder you two are best friends."

"You shouldn't forget yourself," Ron remarks. "After all, we are known as the trio, are we not?"

Hermione and Ron, share a look that makes Harry think it is more of a duo than a trio now. His very thoughts are echoed by Ginny who mutters, "You two can stop making puppy eyes at each other or go get a room! Also, someone better get to the kitchen and help Neville and Luna!"

Harry's eyes widen and he looks at Ginny for the dreadful confirmation. "Neville's cooking?"

She grimaces and nods. "He's trying to."

Harry glances at Ron who shrugs and at Hermione who says, "We couldn't say no."

From the kitchen, Harry hears a curse and then smells something burning. He is not surprised when he sees a smudged up Luna stumble out of the kitchen announcing, "Neville's burned dinner. We need to order take-away."

And such is life on a Friday…

**TBC**

Author's Note: The beginning of the story has been laid out of you, and I would like to know what you think about it. There's a lot that I've hinted in the story and if you've read a few of my miniseries before, you should be able to pick up what's going on. Also, even if you haven't I think you ought to have a clue. Tell me what you think of the characters and what the fuck you think is going on. I'd love to know what my readers are thinking about what I'm writing. Thank you.


	2. The Doctor's Office

**AND SO LIFE GOES ON…  
**Part of _"The Aevum Series"  
_By Nenya Entwhistle

Chapter Two  
The Doctor's Office

Every Monday since Harry can remember, he has gone for a checkup. It is Monday during his lunch break that he goes to his doctor's office. The old, old man that works there at the front desk always smiles at him and offers him a lemon drop. Harry usually declines because the lemon drops have a strange taste to them that he does not like very much.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," the ancient man, Albus says, and like always he pushes a tin of lemon drops to him. "Would you like a lemon drop?"

Harry shakes his head and smiles. "No, no thank you."

"Well then," Albus remarks, "please follow me this way."

Like every other Monday, Harry follows Albus to one of the patient rooms where he sits down on the hard cushion half-chairs, half-beds and lets the old man ask him pertinent questions regarding his health. None of this is strange to Harry. What is weird are the looks that Albus and his doctor usually exchange before Harry's examination.

Sometimes Harry almost thinks Albus is giving his doctor a warning look, but that makes little sense. Why would an assistant do that? But before he can think of how odd the look is, it disappears and makes Harry think that his imagination is playing tricks on him again. Or at the least, that his mind is conjuring up fantastical stories that simply cannot be real.

"Dr. Snape will be in here shortly," Albus says, smiling in that cheery way of his before leaving the room.

Harry nods and twiddles his thumbs, looking at the stark white walls. He wonders why there are no decorations, no artwork, or anything to make the room a little livelier and friendlier. But then again, when he thinks about his first impression of Dr. Snape, the décor does not seem so surprising anymore. If there is a man that fits this stark, cold, and rigid room it is Dr. Snape. Even his given name, _Severus_, suits him.

It occurs to Harry that he knows a lot of people with odd names. Albus, rather odd. Hermione, some Greek origin of some sort. And Severus, Latinate, anyone? But it is nice, he thinks, that their parents were original in their naming. There is nothing duller than to have a name that everyone has. Harry still has not decided if he likes his name or not. Harry Potter? What kind of name is that?

The door flies open and before he can see his doctor, he hears, "Mr. Potter, late as usual." Harry wonders if he is right that Dr. Snape sounds critical, or if he is just stating a fact. "So how are you feeling today?"

Harry does not miss the sharp look Albus gives to his doctor, nor does he miss the way Dr. Snape presses his lips tightly together. "I'm doing well," Harry answers, hoping to break the tension he feels between the two of them. He does not know why, but he feels that it is worse today than in past days. "My head doesn't hurt."

"No nightmares?" Dr. Snape asks, looking at him intently. Harry also finds it odd how closely his doctor stares at him sometimes, as if he wants to say something but holds his tongue instead.

Shaking his head, Harry smiles but it falters when he notices his doctor frown. "I don't think I need to take the medicine anymore," Harry remarks. "I mean, you said it was to help with my head injury after the accident, but I feel fine. It's been more than three years, hasn't it? I think I've gotten to the point where I don't need it anymore."

Dr. Snape pinches the bridge of his nose and shifts around uncomfortably, readjusting his white coat. "I would not advise you to stop taking your pills. They are supposed to help you, Potter, and you do trust my judgment, don't you?"

"I do," Harry says, picking at some flaky skin around his nail cuticle. "It's just, the pills, they make me dizzy and such."

"It's why you're advised to take them after you eat," his doctor responds dryly. Harry feels his doctor's dark eyes once again trained on him. "I take it you haven't been eating a decent breakfast before taking them."

Blushing, Harry ducks his head in shame. "No, sir, I haven't." His doctor glares at him, and Harry's cheeks burn an even brighter red. "I don't have time to eat if I want to get to work on time."

Dr. Snape rolls his eyes and grumbles, "Foolish, impertinent brat, will you ever learn to listen to me?"

Harry lifts his head and grins like an idiot. He knows he ought to feel insulted, but he has heard the same insults for so long about his insolent, defiant behavior for so long that he has gotten used to it. He feels like he has a pretty good working relationship with his doctor. The bantering is the one reason he does not mind coming on the weekly visits. Long ago, he started to question why he still had to come on weekly visits when he has recovered nicely. Especially since the treatments he has been getting don't seem to help.

"I do try," Harry replies with contrite. "I just, it seems, have a hard time following instructions?"

"And arriving on time," Dr. Snape mutters and again Harry catches an odd look exchanged between his doctor and the old man. Harry notices his doctor pressing his lips into a thin, straight unforgiving line. "What about your headaches? Do you still have them?"

Harry shakes his head. "No, not for a while, which is why I don't think I need to take the pills."

"Fortunately for me," his doctor remarks, "you're not the doctor, are you?"

And then when Harry almost thinks he might like Dr. Snape, he goes and says something like that which makes him almost hate the man. Harry grits his teeth. Even though his doctor is being an egotistical prick, he does have a very valid point. "I'm not."

"And I say you need to keep taking the po—prescribed medication," his doctor says.

Harry sighs and wonders if he will ever get off the stupid pills. "Every morning?"

"Yes, every morning after you eat. Remember that." Dr. Snape jabs a finger in Harry's direction. "It's important that you eat. The medicine is not meant to be taken without food. Do you understand me?"

"I understand."

"One last thing," his doctor comments, and Harry knows what is coming for it is always the last question, "are you having any flashbacks?"

"No."

"I'm sorry."

And to Harry's surprise, he always does sound sorry. "It's not your fault."

"Yes, well… I feel like I'm not doing my job as your doctor…" Dr. Snape says, his eyes shifting around before settling on the white wall. "So will you try to follow my directions regarding your medication?"

"I will try," Harry promises.

"Good." Dr. Snape nods and gestures to man at his side. "Albus will get you your pills. I'll see you next Monday, Mr. Potter."

"Good-bye, Dr. Snape," Harry murmurs while he watches his doctor stalk off.

He is startled from his staring when the old man touches his shoulder and reminds him gently, "If you'll come with me, Mr. Potter?" Harry gets up from the chair and follows Dr. Snape's assistant to where the pills are kept. "Remember," Albus says with eyes that seemed far too wise, "take one pill a day."

Handing the pills to Harry, the old man gestures to the jar of yellow candy. "Are you sure you don't want a lemon drop?"

"I'm sure," Harry says, and smiles. "Thanks." He shoves the pills into his pockets. "Have a good day."

"The same to you, Mr. Potter. The same to you."

Harry feels relieved when he is out of the doctor's office. He does not like coming here, but he knows that his friends will get on his case if he tries to stop going. They say it is for the best, that if he believes the treatment will work, it will. His friends are also adamant that Dr. Snape is the best in his field, and there is no other doctor in London that he ought to see. Still he gets the feeling that maybe another doctor, even an inferior one, might be able to offer new insights that his doctor is missing.

Not like it matters, Harry has long since given up.

-

Pulled from the white void in which he had wandered, he felt weariness where previously there had been none. He opened his eyes and registered that the light was dim, though it felt a thousand times brighter than it was. Everything was hazy and unclear until someone propped glasses onto his nose. Then he saw too many faces, faces he did not recognize and wondered if he had ever known.

"Harry?" Who was that? "Harry, you're finally awake!" a woman, a young woman with bushy hair cried out. He must be Harry, but he did not know whether he was or not. He couldn't remember…

"Hey mate," said a red-headed man. "Welcome back."

There were other faces too, but a dark-haired, dark-eyed man watching him from the corner stood out. He wanted to get a better look, but other faces popped in front of him—one with a starch-white uniform who looked like the doctor, and one with a long beard and blue eyes that pierced into his own—and he lost sight of the dark stranger. So many faces at once, he felt overwhelmed and wanted to shrink back away from it. He had to look away.

"Harry," the lady doctor said, "how are you feeling?"

He felt terrible, and he was going to say that too but instead, he croaked, "Are you my doctor?" The woman looked startled, and he thought maybe he was wrong. Maybe she was someone else.

"No, Harry, I'm not…"

Black dots blotted his vision, and he felt himself about to fall back into oblivion. Before he did, he had to ask, "Who am I?"

The last thing he recalled were many widening eyes before he passed out.

-

When Harry picks up his mobile, he knows who it is going to be. Hermione has never failed to call after one of his doctor's appointment. She says she is afraid one day he will forget to go. He thinks Hermione is paranoid, but her reasoning is not without rationale. He has to admit, he did forget to go once, but that was a rather extraordinary circumstance. It is not everyday that one of the kids has to be admitted to the hospital. In the mayhem, he had simply forgotten.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaims. "How are you?"

"I'm good," he says, like he always says. "And you?"

"Very good," she responds. "Oh Harry, you didn't forget to go to your doctor's appointment, did you?"

He smiles, just as he thought. She is almost too predictable. "No," he answers. "I didn't forget. I went during my lunch break like I do every week. That time three months ago, it was just a fluke. You really don't need to call me every Monday to remind me."

Harry has no trouble imagining Hermione trying to loosen up, but still having her concern remain visible. "It's just…" she murmurs, and then sighs, "I guess you could say I'm a bit of a worrywart."

"Only a bit?" he teases.

"Hush you," she mutters. "Is it wrong for me to worry about you?"

He shakes his head, but then remembers she cannot see him. "No, no it's not."

-

The woman, one of his doctors, said her name was Pomfrey, but that he could call her Poppy if he wished. But it felt weird to call her something so informal. He felt better sticking with the proper name. It was easier, especially when he didn't feel familiar enough to be on first name basis. He clenched a fistful of bed sheets. Why could he not remember anything? Nothing was familiar, _damnit_!

"Please calm down, Harry," Dr. Pomfrey said soothingly. "You need to relax. If you can't concentrate, I can come back tomorrow and we can try again then."

"No," he mutters. "No, stay. I have to get through this, _I have to_."

She pats his hand reassuringly and sits down again. "Okay. Then I'll continue with my questions?" He nodded, and she pulled something off her clipboard and showed it to him. "Do you know who these people are?"

The picture was strange, still and lifeless of two people he knew to be dead already. He did not recognize them from memory, but he saw the resemblance they shared with him and he could deduce that they were his parents. He had spent hours looking at the mirror, rememorizing his face to know, looking at the picture, that he had his mother's eyes and cheekbones, his father's hair and chin. His nose might be a combination of both, neither quite as tall as his father's nor as short as his mother's. He guessed his height was from his mother because he did not feel tall, and his build was probably his mother's too. Slender form, wiry muscles, and generally short.

"Harry?"

It took him a moment to realize she was calling him—his name. "Yes?"

"Do you know who they are?" she asked.

"My parents," he said. "They're my parents."

She smiled and placed another photo on top of his parents' picture. There were three people in this one: a redhead boy, a bushy hair girl, and him. "Do you remember who these two are?"

The first thing he thought when he looked at the picture was that the three of them were really comfortable around each other. The redhead's arm was slung around his shoulders, and he saw that he had a grin on his face. While he did not have his arms wrapped around anyone, he was pressed quite close to the girl's side and like him, she was beaming too. He was certain, absolutely, that the three of them were good friends, maybe even best friends.

"I don't know their names, but I think they're my friends."

"Good, good," she said, still smiling. "Are you remembering anything?"

Shrugging his shoulders, he glanced hard at the photo. Did he remember them? "No," he answered. "I don't remember."

"It's okay. It takes time."

-

Late in the evening, it is just Teddy and him. The older kids that usually hang around his office, like Vera and Racquel, have already been picked up. Mondays are longer than other days because it is the first day of the work week, and it is just slow. Most parents pick the kids up thirty minutes later than usual, and like normal Teddy's Aunt Patricia is the latest.

"Harry," Teddy says, and Harry looks at him, "can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Harry responds with a gentle smile. "What's on your mind?"

"Um…, what's it like not to have… any memories?" The boy tilts his head to the side and peers up at him with an earnest, curious expression. "I mean, it's weird, isn't it?"

It does not surprise Harry that Teddy is asking this. A part of him wonders why it took so long. Regardless of whether or not he was expecting it, it is not an easy question to answer. Harry drapes his arm across Teddy's shoulder and sighs. "It is weird," he agrees. "But like everything that gets thrown at you, you have to deal with it or just sink into self-pity." He grins and he tousles Teddy's hair. "Obviously, I decided not to be pathetic."

Teddy rests his head against Harry's shoulder. "I'm glad."

Harry resists the urge to brush a kiss on the kid's forehead. He has to remind himself that Teddy isn't his, even if he wishes it were so. "So am I, so am I," Harry murmurs. "But it's hard, not remembering. Makes it difficult on not only you, but your friends. I'm lucky though, I've got great friends who understand and stand by me. You can't ask for more, especially when you've got no family."

"You're like me," Teddy remarks. "You're an orphan like me."

Nodding with sudden realization that, yes, Teddy and he do share the lack of parents. "How did you lose your parents?" Harry asks and then blanches. "Oh god, that was insensitive of me. You don't have to answer that, Teddy. I'm—"

"They were killed," Teddy whispers and wraps his arms around Harry's waist. "Someone murdered them."

A chill runs down Harry's spine at Teddy's confession. He instinctively pulls the boy closer and hugs him tightly. "I'm sorry," Harry says softly. "So sorry that something so awful happened to you."

Teddy shudders against him and clings on even more. "I've never told anyone."

Rubbing Teddy's back soothingly, Harry says, "I'll always be here for you."

-

It was awkward, sitting across from two people he ought to remember but did not. Dr. Pomfrey had told him that they were his best friends, and that their names were Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. He studied them: they looked concerned, and a little apprehensive about how to act around him. He wanted to reassure them, but did not know how.

"Harry," the girl—Hermione—said, "how are you feeling?"

"All right," he answered. "How are you?" It was an automatic response, something polite that he knew he ought to say. He did not know if he was generally courteous or if he was more of the rude sort. He would like to believe himself to be civil, but one never knew. The best way to find out about who he was, Dr. Pomfrey had said, was to ask those who knew him best. Who better than his best friends?

"We're good," she responded, a smile lifting the misgiving on her features. "Ma—Dr. Pomfrey said that we should come and answer some questions for you, that we might be able to tell you what she couldn't answer."

He nodded, wondering what the panicked look on her face had been about before she had switched gears. "I just… wanted to know something about myself." He smiled sheepishly and glanced down at his hands. "She said I should ask, well, my best friends."

The redhead—Ron grinned and said, "That's what we're here for, Harry."

It still felt strange being called Harry when he did not feel like Harry. He knew he was. He had been told he was, but if feeling like he was Harry was as easy as if someone said he was—then the concept of identity would have been too easy. If he could be someone just in words, how easy it would be. He cracked his knuckles, and chewed on his bottom lip.

"Harry?" Hermione called, drawing him from his thoughts. He blinked and refocused on her face, he saw concern and worry etched into lines that should not be on her. She was still too young to have wrinkles like that. "What do you want to know?"

Yes, what _did_ he want to know? "I don't know," he muttered. "Tell me about my life? Everything that you can?"

She pursed her lips together thoughtfully and glanced at Ron, nudging him with her elbow. "I suppose I should go first," Ron said. "After all, I was the one who met you first." He rubbed his chin, and his eyes had a faraway look of someone seeing something that was not there. "If I remember correctly, we met on the H—"

Hermione coughed abruptly, and Ron's eyes lost their hazy look. "Sorry about that," she said, glancing at redhead next to her. "Please continue, Ron."

"Right," he said. "Let's see, we met on a train on our way to boarding school…"

-

"Teddy," a short, haggard woman says, "are you ready to go?"

Harry has seen Teddy's Aunt Patricia so often that it is a shock when she does not pick up her nephew. And today, he notes, she looks more tired than normal. Harry actually thinks that if it isn't for Victor, Teddy's home life would be fine, maybe even good. He suspects it's the uncle who causes the problems since Patricia Delmont seems to be a nice enough woman. Secretly, Harry envies that Teddy has real family.

Teddy is still clinging to Harry when he turns to his aunt. "Do I have to go?"

Harry smiles apologetically at Teddy's aunt, because he knows what Patricia will say since she answers the same question nearly everyday: "Yes! You know that we have to get going as soon as possible so I can make dinner for you and your uncle. You know how upset Uncle Victor gets when we're late, and we already are late."

Everyone is late on a Monday, Harry thinks. It is just the way things are. "Teddy," he says, as usually does, and pushes the boy up, "you ought to get going. I'm sure the train's a mess at this time."

"It is," Patricia remarks with a smile as she holds out her hand. "Come on, Teddy. You'll be back tomorrow."

Teddy drags his feet, but takes his aunt's hand. "Bye, Harry."

"Good-bye Teddy."

The two of them, so similar in coloring and stature—it is not hard to think they might be mother and son—start to walk off, but then they pause. Patricia turns around and says, "Thank you, for everything that you do, Mr. Potter."

"You're welcome," he responds. "But it's nothing really." He beams at both of them. "It's a lot of fun, and well, Teddy in ways… reminds me of, well, me."

-

The strange man who came sometimes with Dr. Pomfrey to check on him was with her again. Usually he would stand in the corner and watch them. Today, though, the stranger stood next to her and stared. Dark eyes, intense eyes seemed to penetrate into his very being. He had the feeling that this stranger was not as much of a stranger as he assumed, even though he had yet to be introduced—or was it reintroduced?—to him yet.

"Good morning, Harry," Dr. Pomfrey greeted him with a smile. "How are you feeling today?"

"Pretty well," he answered, sitting up in his bed, though it took a little effort. He was still a bit shaky and weak. His doctor had told him he would probably feel like that for a few months, until he got his strength back, considering he had been in a coma for nearly two years. It was amazing, he thought, that he was alive. "And you?"

"I'm wonderful," she said, and she raised her hand toward the man next to her. "This man, Dr. Severus Snape, will help you with your physical recovery as well as your memory loss. He specializes in, what you have, retrograde amnesia, while I'm more of a head trauma specialist. And I must say, you've been healing quite nicely, though I expected you to wake up a lot sooner than you did. But nevertheless, late is better than never, right?"

He smiled back and nodded because she seemed to expect it. He had guessed from limited interactions with his best friends that he was the type of person people depended on. He just sensed that they looked to him for something, though he did not know what. What could a memory loss victim offer to the world in reassurance? He wished they would understand he was lost, and maybe this man—Dr. Severus Snape—would understand.

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Snape," he murmured politely. He held out his hand, and the dark man stared down in a dubious regard. After pressing his lips together, the man took Harry's hand and shook it once before dropping it.

"Mr. Potter," his new doctor said stiffly, "the _pleasure_ is mine."

"Have I met you before?" he asked, his eyes flickering to Dr. Pomfrey for either confirmation or denial. "You seem—I don't know—kind of familiar, though I'm not sure…"

"You might have seen him around your room, recently," Dr. Pomfrey remarked, her eyes sliding over to her colleague before returning back to her patient. "He has been studying your case, trying to see if he can treat you. You might have seen his assistant around a lot too."

"His assistant?" he queried.

"Yes," she responded. "The old man with a long beard? He has deep blue eyes."

"That man is Dr. Snape's assistant?"

She nodded. "Yes, he is."

"He stares at me a lot," he remarked. "I didn't know why, but I suppose now it makes sense. But it was weird, not knowing, why he was in the room a lot looking at me."

"My assistant," Dr. Snape murmured, his eyes trained on him, "has a tendency to be a little odd at times. Don't mind him, he is just doing his job. He is paid to observe, and he relays his observations to me so that I can best decide how to treat you."

"Will you be able to help me?"

Dr. Snape sighed and his shoulders tensed. "I will try my best to help you, but you must realize Mr. Potter, you've been in a coma for two years. It is remarkable that you are even alive. The amount of head trauma you were subjected to should have left you brain dead, if not mentally impaired. The fact that you came out of it with only amnesia is a blessing. Am I not right, Dr. Pomfrey?"

"Dr. Snape is quite right, Harry. You are a very lucky young man."

"But," he said, looking earnestly at the two doctors standing side by side, "there is hope?"

The smile on Dr. Snape's face was strained. "Perhaps."

-

He likes to sit alone in his flat looking from his window, watching random people walking on the pavement below. He wonders if he might have known some of them before, but he knows it is unlikely. Everyone he does know, he has probably already met. His friends followed Dr. Snape's advice to show him everything of his past to see if he might remember anything. And he does not, though they keep trying. All he knows is what they have told him. He might wish things were different, but things are as they are.

He has accepted the way his life is, he just wishes his friends, and even his doctors, would give it up. He does not want to take the medication anymore. He does not want to recall what he obviously cannot remember. He wants to forget about his past life; even as good as they said it was. It is not important to him anymore. What is important is the life he has now.

He might not have any talents, but he likes to think that he is doing something meaningful in the world. That even though he does not know his past, he can still have a future. Besides, he has his friends and the children at the shelter. They fill his life with meaning, and he is happy. Even if he could get his memories back, he does not know if he would be any happier.

A part of him thinks it would only be worse.

-

A/N: And so I set the story in motion in Chapter 1, leaving you with a lot of questions. I've confirmed some of them in Chapter 2 and raised more in this one. What questions does this one raise? Also, how do you think is going on between Severus and Harry? If anything at all? Also, Draco fans, he reappears in Chapter 3. Stay tune... and let me know what you think. Thanks.


	3. Second Meetings

**AND SO LIFE GOES ON  
**_part of "The Aevum Series"  
_by Nenya Entwhistle

Thanks to my wonderful betas: **Ziasudra** and **Lesameschelle** for everything they've done.

Chapter Three  
_Second Meetings_

He is in a hurry. He is late. Like always, he thinks. He runs, his legs move faster, but not fast enough. He can see the doors to the train closing, and he is going to miss the one he needs to be on. All his attention is focused on the closing doors and he does not watch where he is going. He slams into someone and automatically apologizes, "I'm sorry. So sorry."

He drops to his knees instinctively and picks up the strange stick he saw drop to the ground. Before he can examine it too closely, the stranger snatches it from his hands. "So we meet again, Harry Potter." He hears a voice that is vaguely familiar. When Harry looks up, he sees the beautiful blond from a few days before. "Do you always make it a habit to run into people?" the blond—Draco Malfoy, he remembers, inquires snidely.

Biting his bottom lip, Harry shakes his head. "No, I was just in a rush to get to where I work."

"How interesting, you work, like every other normal human being. Very enlightening. I would have presumed otherwise," Malfoy taunts. "After all, why would _you_ need to work?"

What the blond man said was self-contradicting. Harry could have sworn he did not know the man, other than the brief introduction on Friday. But when he thinks about some of what Malfoy said before, it is almost as if Malfoy knows of him. Add to what he just said, the fact Malfoy says he does not know him makes no sense. Harry narrows his eyes and studies the man carefully, trying to see if he can pick up anything from his demeanor. Dr. Snape had told him, one of his few compliments, that he seemed to have good instincts.

"Are you sure you don't know me?" he asks. Hermione would have been proud, Harry muses; the direct questioning is a specialty of hers. "Because," he says, peering up at the taller blond, "from what you say, it seems you do know me."

"I don't know you," Malfoy sneers, "if you don't remember who I am."

"You said your name was Draco Malfoy," he says carefully. "I know who you are."

The blond smiles and the twisted, pinched look that accompanied his sneer disappears. "You know my name, but when I asked before if you did—you said no. Thus, if you don't know me, then how would I know you?"

This is a word game. Some twisted mind game of Malfoy's, but Harry does not understand the reason why. Unless Malfoy hates him, there has to be a reason for this. "Do you hate me?"

"When did you become so smart, Potter?" The sneer is back on the blond's face. "When I used to know you, and yes, you're right—I do know you—you were never very bright. You were the typical hero boy: noble, brave, and prone to acts of absolute stupidity."

Harry opens his mouth and then shuts it. He really does not know how to respond to a person who hates him. Is it possible that his friends lied about who he was? That he really wasn't the nice, generous person they said he was? After all, they are his friends and probably have a biased view of him. But this Draco Malfoy would not be biased because he is no friend of Harry's.

"Was that how I was?"

It is Malfoy's turn for his jaw to drop. Harry wants to laugh at how ridiculous the blond looks, like a fish searching for its next dinner. But his intuition tells him that Malfoy would be grievously offended if he did. And so, because he is polite and kind, he does not.

"You are asking me this?" Malfoy inquires in a disbelieving tone. "You seriously don't remember, do you?"

He shakes his head. "I think it would be obvious that I don't."

"I assumed you just wanted to ignore that I existed," Malfoy mutters. "I thought it was a game; ignore Draco Malfoy, because you can. Actually most people do, so why wouldn't you?"

"Am I the sort of person that follows what everyone else does?"

"No, you're the one everyone follows," he spits.

"I was?"

The blond's eyes narrow and his grey eyes bear down on Harry. It is as if Malfoy is deliberating whether or not to believe what he has already confirmed. Finally, Harry hears him ask, "Do you really have amnesia?"

Harry nods. "I do."

"Curious, but I bet it happened when you defeated him," Malfoy muses. "So what do you remember, Potter? Anything at all?"

"What do you mean you think it happened when I defeated someone?" Harry inquires, his green eyes showing his confusion. "That doesn't make any sense. For your information, it happened in a car accident."

Something, Harry does not know what, causes Malfoy to step toward him and grab his chin, tilting it upwards. Then the blond reaches with his other hand and pushes Harry's bangs aside. For some reason, he stays perfectly still while Malfoy touches his scar. Harry has always been uncomfortable with its odd shape, like a lightning bolt, and he likes it best to remain hidden beneath his bangs. It draws less attention that way.

"Did they ever tell you where you got this?" Malfoy asks, his finger still tracing the scar.

"In the accident, of course."

Malfoy steps away and starts laughing.

-

Learning to walk again was a real pain. It was not like he did not know how. He knew the mechanics, but he could not apply it. His muscles, his legs, just would not do as he wanted. To say it was frustrating was an understatement. Sometimes, all he wanted to do was scream and wail like an undisciplined child, just like Dr. Snape said he was.

"Are you just going to quit? You've only taken a few steps," his doctor growled, glaring, or was it staring?—at him. "The Harry I knew wouldn't quit like that. He'd keep going because he doesn't know the meaning of the word. Do you understand me?"

Harry—he finally was starting to understand who he was _and_ felt like himself—clenched his hands tightly together and gritted his teeth together. He understood very well, but that did not make it any easier. If anything, it made it harder knowing how persistent he was before. He felt inadequate now. And what was worse was that Dr. Snape said all these things in front of his assistant. It would not have been quite so bad if only his doctor was there to witness his weakness. After all, Dr. Snape was a specialist in his field. His doctor had probably dealt with patients that were more pathetic than he was.

Staring down at his skinny legs, his knobby knees, and his lack of muscles—he knew he looked like a weakling. When he raised his eyes, he met Dr. Snape's dark ones. Startled, Harry resisted the urge to grab onto the bar that was there to help him balance. He would not be weak in front of this demanding and exacting doctor. Especially not when the old man, who had eyes that seemed to stare into his soul, watched him. Albus made him feel naked and vulnerable, while his doctor made him feel incompetent and weak.

"You were doing well!" Dr. Snape snapped. "Don't stop! Keep going, you have to keep going. Because the only way you have left to go is forward, there is no going back."

Harry took another step, a shaky step that almost made him crumble to his knees, but somehow he kept standing. Catching his breath, he hobbled a couple more steps until he was standing in front of his doctor and the assistant. He even managed to smile when he said, "Was that better?"

Dr. Snape smiled back, a glimmer of one that Harry barely saw. It disappeared when Albus glanced toward his doctor. To Harry it seemed like Dr. Snape did not want his assistant to see him looking less than his usually severe self. Harry wondered why his doctor did not want to seem nice. But Harry saw the smile. It was there, and just being there was enough of an encouragement. His doctor was not the snappy, unfair man he portrayed himself to be.

"No, that was worse," his doctor retorted. "Of course that was better, what are you looking for? Ebullient praise?"

Just when Harry thought he might be getting on Dr. Snape's better side, he had to go and say something like that. Harry bit his tongue and tried to chant a calming mantra that would allow him not to shout at his doctor. He told himself that Dr. Snape was doing his best for him, no matter how infuriating some of his snarky comments were. He needed the push, and that was where his doctor came in. If not for him, then who? His friends? Hardly, they cared too much about him to be harsh. It had to be Dr. Snape.

But that still did not make it any easier not to snap back with a derisive retort. Somehow, Harry found it in himself to leash his tongue. All he said was, "I don't know."

Dr. Snape snorted and grumbled, "Young people never know anything. Figures that you would follow suit."

"Do you hate me?" Harry blurted out. Once he said it, he clapped his hand over his mouth. He had not meant to say that. Dr. Pomfrey had warned him privately after meeting his new specialist that Dr. Snape was rather touchy about his demeanor. Just because he snapped did not mean he hated. But Harry felt Dr. Snape was meaner than he had to be, even considering he needed to goad him into action.

His doctor rolled his eyes and his lips curled up into a sneer. "You think _far _too much of yourself, Potter. Why ever would I want to conjure enough energy to feel that way about you? It would take more effort than you are worth."

Harry felt like he had been slapped by Snape's words. If anything, it felt worse than a physical hand would have. He bit down hard on his tongue, almost drawing blood when he saw Albus' sympathetic eyes meeting his. It made his cheeks flare red in embarrassment. Harry wondered how often the assistant gave that sort of look to patients. He probably felt like all the other patients his doctor saw, but for some unknown reason, he wanted to be different.

"Don't you think you're being a little harsh on Mr. Potter?" Albus inquired, his eyes starting to twinkle. "After all, the young man is trying his best, aren't you?" Harry nodded when the assistant turned back to him. "Please forgive Dr. Snape, he can be rather annoyed when results don't meet up to his expectations."

"It's all right," Harry whispered, lowering his eyes to stare at his hands. "I've realized."

The tension, already unbearable, doubled. Harry felt it crushing him, and if he could leave he would. However, he had only been through the physical activity of his therapy. As much as he wanted to skip the cool down he knew his doctor would not allow it. Instead, Harry took a deep breath and said, "I think it's time that I cooled down."

"Indeed, Mr. Potter," Dr. Snape mumbled, "indeed."

-

Draco Malfoy has a beautiful laugh. The way his eyes sparkle silver and how his lips burnish berries. But as wonderful as the sight of it is, Harry does not like the reason for it. What is so funny about saying that his scar came from an accident? Did Malfoy not know how much it pained Harry to know that he had lost his memories in an act of sheer recklessness?

"Why are you laughing?" Harry cries, not understanding. One minute it looked like Malfoy was going to be friendly, and then this. "Stop it! Stop laughing!"

The blond continues to laugh, a deep laugh that comes from his chest and rumbles out through his throat. The sound is musical, and yet awful to Harry's ears. But eventually it starts to soften, fading away into the air. "I do apologize," Malfoy says, his eyes no longer flashing in mirth but in sincerity. "I did not mean to offend."

Someone, Harry thinks, has taught the man pretty manners. But when he looks at Malfoy, it is not hard to see that the blond comes from money. Harry estimates that the designer outfit Malfoy is wearing is expensive enough to fund the shelter for at least a week, if not longer. Some people, he muses with disgust, do not know where money ought to be spent. Wasting it on clothes definitely is not.

"Unfortunately you did," Harry snaps, not feeling as charitable as he probably should since he is getting an apology. One that he doubts is given often. Malfoy does not seem the type to say: _I'm sorry. _"Now if you'll excuse me, I've somewhere that I need to be. Good day."

Harry feels Malfoy's hand grab his wrist, and he is about to shake it off when he hears, "You've learned how to make an exit, Potter, I'm impressed. But I never thought you were the type to run away. Don't you want to know what I know?" Unintentionally, Harry turns and is trapped by the earnest expression he sees in Malfoy's face. "I can see that you do," the blond murmurs. "All you have to do is ask, Harry."

He wants to ask, but instead says, "What can you possibly tell me that my friends haven't?"

Again, Malfoy smiles and it is a thing of loveliness. "The truth, only the truth."

_God_, Harry knows he ought to look away, ought to jerk his hand free, but risk-taking—he has heard—has always been a weakness of his. "When?" he inquires. He looks directly into Malfoy's eyes. "When should we meet?"

Malfoy's smile widens and he murmurs, "I thought you might say that." He withdraws a card that has his name and number on it. "I'm available to talk whenever you would like. Just ring me up." He hands Harry the card and releases his wrist. "I'll see you soon, very soon."

All Harry can do is watch Malfoy walk off and disappear into the crowd.

-

Of all the people he used to know, old friends and such, he felt most comfortable around Hermione and Ron. He supposed it was only right, considering they were his best friends. Dr. Pomfrey did not need to tell him that, it was clear in the photos she had shown of the three of them. The easy-going dynamics of their relationship was evident. Harry only wondered when Hermione was going to realize she was in love with Ron. It was so blatant in the later pictures, when they were in their 20s, that Ron was waiting for her to realize his love for her.

From everything Harry had been told about Hermione, he would have thought that the smartest person at their boarding school would know the obvious. But it only proved that being intelligent did not mean she could see love staring her in the face. She could grasped difficult concepts, but not the signs Ron was sending her. It was apparent to Harry, though he did not know how he felt about his best friends getting together. He liked the easy friendship the three of them shared. If Hermione and Ron got together as boyfriend and girlfriend, how would that change things? Especially when he was just getting used to being their friend again?

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, plopping down at his bedside. "How are you feeling today?" she asked with a smile.

"Good," he answered, returning her smile. "Where's Ron?"

Just like he guessed, she rolled her eyes. "Is that how you greet me? Where is Ron?"

He chuckled, a bit hoarsely because he still wasn't used to laughing yet. "Just curious, he's usually with you."

She huffed, but he noticed her eyes were still shining in good humor. "Why am I not surprised that you're asking for Ron? He's usually asking for you. If I didn't know that Ron was straight without a question, I'd wonder if your friendship is more than what it seems."

"What?"

Hermione blinked and she looked a bit taken back, not a usual expression for her. "I guess no one has told you." She seemed a bit embarrassed, as if she did not really want to tell him. "It must have slipped our minds, but Harry… you—you're 100 homosexual. You.... uh don't like girls much. I think it was after you dated Cho that you found out your preference. You prefer blokes to birds."

Wow, that was a revelation. He probably would have liked to learn this information earlier, instead of nearly six months later. But it was all right. It was not like he had made a blunder and tried to make a pass on a girl. It would actually explain why he found staring at blokes interesting, though he did not have a real desire to shag any of them. Of all the people he saw, he did not really feel any yearning for something physical.

"Who was my first?" he inquired. She ought to know. She seemed to know everything about him, and he thought eventually he would have told her who his first was. But she shook her head rather decisively. "You don't know."

"No," she confirmed. "I don't know. You never told me, though," she remarked, a frown crossing her face, "it's possible you might have told Ron."

"If I told Ron," Harry murmured with amusement, "I'm sure it eventually would have gotten to you somehow. No matter if I told him to keep a secret. You know he tells you everything." He sighed and lowered his eyes to stare at his hands. "It's possible I'm still a virgin."

She laughed at that remark and his head shot up. "You're not a virgin, Harry," she murmured, her eyes dancing around. "I know for a fact you aren't. You definitely had a lover after we graduated. Ron and I just don't know who it was." Her eyes caught his. "But whoever it was, he must have been a good lover… because you always looked thoroughly shagged."

_Ugh_, Harry thought, hiding his reddening face underneath one of the pillows. Why was he the one blushing when it ought to be Hermione? After all, he was the one who had asked the bloody question! It was just like her to manage to turn the tables on him. And when did she stop being a prude? He dropped the pillow at that thought. Had he just remembered something?

"You have such a cute blush," she teased.

His face brightened even more, but he resisted the urge to grab the pillow again as a shield. What defense did he need against his best friend?

"Oh Harry," Hermione remarked, and he saw a light go off in her head meaning she had remembered something, "did you remember to take your medicine today?

"No, not yet," he answered. "Thanks for reminding me."

-

He takes the business card out and stares at the name: _Draco__ Malfoy. _Another odd name to add to the résumé of people he knows who have weird names. He flips his mobile open and dials the number. His finger pauses before it pushes the send button and he closes the phone. What is he even thinking about, calling that arsehole? It would be the ultimate betrayal to all his friends because it would mean that he acknowledges that they have not been telling him everything. That he would go to someone to learn the truth, whatever that might be.

Jumping a bit when he hears his mobile ring and vibrate, he looks down and sees that it is Hermione calling. He wonders what she wants now, if she is calling to remind him to take his medicine or something. He flips it open and answers, "Hello 'Mione."

"Harry!" she exclaims, and he hears the excitement in her voice. "Oh my god, I don't even know how to begin. But Ron thought I should tell you." She sounds breathless like she has been out running. "Actually, he wanted to tell you, but I begged him to let me. We haven't told anyone yet, and well it was really a huge surprise to me! I—I still haven't quite let it all hit me yet. Merlin… ooh!"

"You're babbling," Harry chides, but there is humor in his tone. He rarely hears Hermione sound like this, like she has been overwhelmed. "You said Merlin like it's an exclamation." He grins and remarks, "Breathe and tell me what's up?"

"Harry, me and Ron are engaged!"

He tightens his grip on the phone so that he doesn't drop it. He is surprised, but more shocked that he is stunned than anything else. He really should not be. After all, they have been dating for years. If anything, their engagement should have happened months ago. Ron was a bit slow in acting sometimes, a contradiction to the stories Harry had heard about him. He has been told that Ron and he were known for their impetuous actions in boarding school. Hermione, it seems, was the voice of reason.

"Harry?" she calls. "Did you hear me? Am I breaking up?"

"I heard you," he says, trying to sound cheerful. He ought to feel happy, he really should. But all he can think about is how things will change, though he knows life is about change. "Wow!" he exclaims. "I thought Ron would have asked sooner." And that was true. "It took him a while."

Harry can imagine Hermione shrugging with acceptance. "Ron is Ron," she remarks, and there is love in her voice. "Sometimes he acts impulsively and other times he's overly cautious when he shouldn't be." She chuckles. "He had barely finished asking the question when I leapt at him and said yes."

"Was he properly shocked at your eagerness?" he jokes.

"He was," she muses. "Very, I think. I don't know why he would be. I've been dating him all these years and he thinks I wouldn't be excited to marry him?"

"I really am happy for you," Harry says sincerely. "Truly."

"Thanks, Harry," she murmurs. "Well, I've got to go. I haven't even told my parents yet!"

It touches him that they would tell him first. And it makes his heart clench when he sees the card he is holding in his hands. How could his friends lie to him? They care about him, love him even, and too much to do something like that. But something nags at the back of his mind, something that says: _What if Malfoy is telling the truth? What then? _

"Bye Harry!" Hermione cries. "Ron will probably call tonight or sometime."

"Good-bye Hermione."

He ends the call and crumbles the business card. He tells himself he should throw it away before he becomes tempted. He even gets up and heads to the rubbish bin. Just as he is about to throw it away, he stops mid-action. Unfolding the card instead, he walks back to where his mobile was and dials Malfoy's number. He pushes the send button and listens to his phone ring.

On the third ring, he is about to hang up when Malfoy's voice says, "Hello?"

Steeling himself, Harry answers, "Hi Malfoy."

"Potter," Malfoy replies, "so when do you want to meet? Now?"

Harry did not expect Malfoy to just jump into it. He still needs more time. He doesn't even know why he has called. He shouldn't be. God knows it. He is betraying his friends, betraying everything that he knows. Doing this means he does not trust them, and he wants to trust them. His hand clenches into a fist and his nails dig into his palm. "I… I shouldn't be calling."

"Don't hang up," Malfoy commands. Harry obeys and wonders why he is listening to someone like Malfoy. "Don't you want to know what your friends aren't telling you?"

"Why should I listen to you?" Harry retorts, feeling his control snapping. "My friends have told me everything I need to know! You are just trying to twist my reality apart!"

"No," Malfoy denies, "I'm trying to untwist it."

"But why?"

"Because," he says, "by untwisting it, I'm sending your life into complete chaos, of course. Remember you know I don't like you. I think hate is a bit too strong, but what do I have to gain by telling the truth as I've known it? It helps you, though it hurts you too to know what a fraud your friends have committed. But other than that, I get nothing."

"You're a sadistic bastard."

Malfoy laughs and Harry hates that it sounds so beautiful. "Everyone, it seems, says so. Does that mean it is so?"

Harry muses that he also hates rhetorical questions which have no need for answers. It is more of Hermione's forte than his. "Damn you, Malfoy."

"Do you want to meet or not?" Malfoy asks. "I don't have all the time in the world to deal with your indecision and whatnot. If you want to meet, set a time and we'll meet. If not I'm going to get back to work."

Harry really does not like being put on the spot. He knows he ought to say no, but _fucking hell_ he wants to say yes. "I…"

"Do you or don't you?"

"I do." He nearly drops the mobile when one of his hands comes up and claps his mouth shut. He cannot believe he just said that. How could he say that?

"Good," Malfoy murmurs. "I was hoping you'd say that. So when would you like to meet?"

He should say never, instead he says, "Tomorrow is Thursday, and it's my short day at the shelter. I could meet you after I get off."

"Shelter?"

"Yeah," Harry says absently, "I work at the Eastside Children's Shelter."

Malfoy snorts. "Figures, you being you, doing something so noble and self-sacrificing. I'm sure your friends are thrilled to have the old Golden Boy back. Absolutely thrilled."

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"Name the time and place," Malfoy demands, "and you'll find out then."

"I already said Thursday."

"But not a place or even a time…"

"After 4, I'll meet you at the Café Noir," Harry responds. "Is that all right?"

Malfoy chuckles. "You have undoubtedly improved with age, Potter. Good taste, good taste," he commends. "I'll meet you there at 4 tomorrow."

"See you then," Harry says and hangs up.

-

A/N: Anyway does this chapter keep your interest, extends it? What do you guys think Malfoy is up to? What's his fucking purpose in this fic? And did you like the 2 scenes in the past, w/ Snape and Hermione/Ron? How were the characterizations? Were there any particular scenes that you really liked? Also... I'd love to hear what you think is going on. Your comments are what keep me writing, you guys have been wonderful! BTW, if anyone sees the movie _Closer_, didn't the scene cuts sort of remind of this, especially when they're doing a flashback event w/in an event? And no fears, Chapter 4 is well on it's way to being


	4. A Serpent's Tale

**AND SO LIFE GOES ON…  
**Part of _"The Aevum Series"  
_By Nenya Entwhistle

Betas: Lesameschelle and Ziasudra (couldn't do it w/o them).

Chapter Four  
_A Serpent's Tale_

The coffee he ordered is getting cold. There is no steam coming from the cup any more, and Malfoy is nowhere to be seen. He has already checked his watch twice: it says 4:10, then 4:15. Maybe Malfoy is not the punctual type, or maybe he is not going to show. Harry wants to leave, wonders why he is even here, but he knows the moment he leaves… he will regret it on the ride back to his flat.

He knows this is betrayal; he understands he is saying he cannot trust his friends. But whatever Malfoy has to tell him, he hopes it is not much. He hopes this is no reason to have to start looking at his friends with mistrust and wariness. He does not want that, and the only way not to go that direction is to be here, listening to whatever Malfoy has to say. Once he does, he will resume his life as he knows it without any doubts.

It is possible it is a mere mind game, in which Malfoy is trying to twist his life apart. But there is the slim possibility that Malfoy will tell an awful truth, and what happens when he hears it? Harry trembles and wraps his cold hands around the lukewarm cup. There is little warmth for him there. He stares down at the brown liquid and sighs. He should leave. He should go, and yet he stays, waiting.

At 4:20, Malfoy walks in, blond and elegant as every other time before that Harry has seen him. He looks around before he spots Harry. Malfoy smiles a little, enough that Harry feels slightly less annoyed, and walks over to where he sits in a back, hidden corner. "Sorry about being late," Malfoy remarks, not looking apologetic at all. "Business and all."

"You could have had me meet you at 4:30," Harry retorts, not feeling the least bit understanding. "Especially if you knew you _might_ be late."

Malfoy's smile turns into a smirk. Harry hates it, absolutely loathes it. "But maybe I like it when people wait for me."

Why is he even waiting for this bastard? Harry pushes his cup away and grabs his jacket. The temperature had just fallen in the past day, signaling the start of fall and that winter is not too far off. He is about to put his jacket on when Malfoy grabs his wrist. "Let go," Harry says fiercely, trying to jerk his wrist free. "Now!"

"No," Malfoy replies and tightens his grip instead. "I really am sorry that I was late. I did not expect to be, and why am I even trying to explain myself to you?" Harry notes the mild disgust and in spite of it, Malfoy is still holding his wrist. "I thought _you_ were the one who wanted to find out the real truth, the truth they aren't telling you."

Harry hesitates and it is enough of a reaction that Malfoy releases him, confident that he will not leave. He does not. Instead, he sits back down and watches Malfoy do the same. Harry would like to snipe, complain at will, but somehow he manages to smile politely. "Talk then," Harry mutters. "Tell me something that I won't believe, a truth they haven't told me."

Leaning forward, Malfoy reaches up and brushes Harry's bangs out of the way. His slender, white finger traces Harry's scar gently, almost reverently. "You did not get this from any mere car accident. There is only one thing in the world that could create such a scar." Malfoy's hand drops and he lowers his voice to a whisper, "Such a scar only comes from a curse. A deadly curse."

Harry hears the words. They go into his ear, into his mind and yet he does not know what to make of them. Curse. Deadly curse. It makes no sense. Curses are not real. That is like… magic, and magic does not exist. He wants to start laughing at Malfoy, laugh hard like Malfoy laughed at him two days ago. It would be sweet to do to Malfoy what had been done to him. And yet he cannot laugh, the sound remains locked in his throat. All he can do is stare at the blond in utter disbelief.

He shudders when Malfoy's hand forces his chin up. "You lived when you should have died," Malfoy murmurs. "Extraordinary luck you have, Potter. Or is it simply that you are the wonder everyone says you are? That you have a secret power in you that makes you the most powerful wizard alive? I can see you don't believe me, but it is true. You, Harry Potter, are a wizard."

-

"And this is your godfather, Sirius Black," Hermione said, flipping to the next page of the photo album a week or so after Harry had woken up. "He died several years ago, while you were still in school."

"How?" Harry inquired, staring down at the handsome, but worn-looking man.

"Er…" she stammered, her eyes flicking over to Ron, who looked equally uncomfortable. "He had cancer, um, and well… he just got worse and worse."

"There was nothing that could be done," Ron added softly. His friend placed his hand on Harry's back, rubbing it reassuringly. "But you were with him at every moment, and he was happy until the end."

There was a glow in Hermione's eyes that Harry did not understand. It was as though she was proud of Ron, but for what? Saying the right thing? Being a good friend? Whatever it was, it caused Ron to blush a red only a few shades lighter than his hair. This Harry was used to. Ron nearly always blushed whenever Hermione gave him a certain type of look. Harry wondered how long it would take before Ron asked her out. And how long had this subtle, barely there relationship been going on?

Harry bit his tongue, almost drawing blood at his utter frustration in not being able to remember anything. He saw his godfather, knew what he looked like, and yet he had absolutely no _fucking _memories of him. Harry told himself to be patient, to relax, and not to be angry. It was not like he would remember things faster if he was angry.

"Would you like to know more about Sirius?" she inquired.

"Yeah," Ron remarked, "we can probably answer whatever questions you've got."

And oh, did Harry have questions. But more than anything, he would like to remember without being told. If he could not, then hearing about it was the next best thing. "Were we close?" he asked. "Did we have a good relationship? What was he like?"

Laughing a bit, Hermione held up her hand. "Not so many questions all at once. One at a time, or even I won't remember all of them."

Harry could not help but tease a little. "So you aren't infallible after all, are you?"

There was perhaps a time when she would have been upset about it, he thought, but now she only smiled. Was it because he was acting more like himself or that he was feeling free enough to tease at all? That he was comfortable with them? Whatever it was, it felt good to make them smile instead of worrying them.

"Of course not, one tries to be perfect, but that doesn't mean that one is," she responded.

"And the answer to one of your questions is yes, you and Sirius were close," Ron answered. "You two didn't see each other much, but you kept up by writing a lot of letters."

"He came by when he could," Hermione said. "You were his only godchild and he spoiled you quite a bit. He even got you this magnificent…" All of a sudden Ron start coughing loudly and she thumped him hard on the back. "You all right?" Ron nodded and she smiled sheepishly.

"What did he get me?" Harry asked.

Ron cleared his throat and replied, "He bought you a car, you lucky sod."

-

_Magic is not real. Malfoy is an ass at lying. Magic is not real, _Harry chants like a mantra. If magic were real, and he was a wizard—would he not have seen some magic occurring in his life already? Because if he is a wizard, and had always been so, then his friends from childhood would be too. That is unless, they have been lying and Malfoy is finally telling him of his real past. But why would his friends, his dear friends, lie about something like this?

Malfoy reaches down and clutches Harry's shaking hand. "Calm down," the blond murmurs. "I know this is a lot to handle, and truth be told I can't believe that your noble friends never told you. They don't seem like good liars."

That Harry has to agree to. Ron and Hermione seem so honest, so earnest. Yet if what Malfoy said is true, then they have been lying from the start. The fear that has lied dormant in Harry, that he pushed aside to be here, starts churning in his stomach. It is a good thing he did not drink the coffee because he feels a bit nauseated now. His head is spinning from an overdose of information; information he does not know if he should believe.

"And yet they did," Malfoy states, his silver eyes getting a far-off look to them. His fingers rub Harry's cheek absently and then stops, letting his hand drop. "So do you want to know everything of what your true life was?"

Does he? Does he really want everything he believes to be true proven false? Harry's teeth tug on his bottom lip, something he does when he is uncertain and utterly confused. Oh he admits, his curiosity demands the truth, but the part of him that is satisfied with his life does not. This truth could destroy everything he knows and cares about. Will his friends still be his? Or will everything go into complete ruin?

"Do you Harry?"

When Malfoy calls him by his name, a weird tingle goes down Harry's spine. It happened the first time the blond said it and it is happening again. Harry wonders why, as most people call him Harry. It should not feel out of place, but this does. Maybe it is a memory, and god knows Harry wishes it to be. It has been three years already, and he has nearly given up. He has resigned himself to never remembering, and yet he knows a part of him will always yearn.

It is frustrating, trying all this time, and never getting anywhere. But it makes sense if what Malfoy says is true. If they are lying about the memories, then how can he remember lies? Harry trembles, shudders with a tiny rage that has snuck into his being. He likes his life, but the part of him that needs to know—_needs it. _

"Yes," he says. "Tell me more, Malfoy."

-

"And this is Remus, he was a close family friend," Hermione said, her voice still sad. It seemed like his life was one long tragedy. Harry did not recognize this grey-haired man with rich chocolate-brown eyes. Hermione's tone and the fact he had not seen this Remus made Harry think that he was probably dead. "He was killed a few years ago by a madman. But the madman is gone now, locked away."

"Who was he to me?"

Hermione bit her lips and her eyes would not meet his. "You always said he was the last bit of family that you had left. I suppose it was because he was a close link to your parents and godfather, they were all the best of friends."

"Like we are?"

She nodded and managed a small smile. "Yeah," she said, wrapping her arm around Ron and reaching over to squeeze Harry's hand, "like we are. Definitely."

Harry stared down at the picture; the last link to his parents was smiling, in a warm and comforting way. Something in him told him that he could rely on this man, perhaps even more than his godfather. For some reason, he felt closer to Remus than he had to any of the other pictures, even the one of his parents. Maybe it was because he been around Remus in the years when his godfather and parents were gone?

"I miss him," he said suddenly, his voice wistful and sad. "I don't know why, but when I look at him I want to cry."

Hermione got up and wrapped her arms around him. "Oh Harry," she said, "are you finally remembering something?"

He did not know whether to shake his head that yes, he was, or to deny this odd feeling he got. It was not a real memory; it was just a feeling he could not explain. He felt something warm inside of him looking at Remus' kind smile, followed by a terrible, terrible pain. His heart felt like it was being squeezed to death, and all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and let the sadness overwhelm him.

"I don't know," he cried. "I don't know, I don't know!"

He clutched onto her, his hands grabbing onto her shirt and making fists behind her back. Resting his head on her shoulder, his forehead against her neck, he had a vague recollection that this was not an odd position for him. "Maybe. God I hope so," he sobbed. "I fucking hate this! It's been days and still I can't remember anything! I'm such a weak and pathetic thing, and…"

"Shush," Hermione whispered, stroking his back and moving her body to give him a more comfortable position. "Ron, can you go get him some of the medicine in the cabinet? It should calm him down."

Somehow they managed to slip the gel pill into his mouth, and Harry swallowed it like an obedient child, falling into a realm of darkness and peace where the bothersome confusion of reality was left behind.

-

"As I have said, you are a wizard," Malfoy begins softly. "As a baby, you somehow incapacitated Voldemort, the Dark Lord akin to an Adolph Hitler, resulting in your scar. As a grown man, you destroyed him. Such power," he says, a sense of awe and envy in his voice, "that you hold such incredible power."

Harry senses a trace of bitterness, a subtle antipathy that makes too much sense. They were not friends, and are now nothing but people trying to gain something from each other. His friends have told him that he is a good person, noble and true, but this attempt at using someone to get something does not feel like any of the traits they say he has. He feels oddly unlike their Harry, but still like himself.

"I do not know much of your life until you attended Hogwarts, the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I did not meet you until then, and by that time it was too late to be friends with you. You were already poisoned by Ronald Weasley, who like everyone in his family is a goddamn Gryffindor," Malfoy sneers, the disgust and dislike far more blatant than his previous emotions. "There has always been animosity between my family and his. And when you were sorted into Gryffindor, the natural rivalry between your house and mine, Slytherin, was added on top of that."

"Gryffindor? Slytherin?" Harry inquires, confusion wrinkling his forehead. Hogwarts, a weird word, was explained but these words were not. "What are you talking about?"

"Gryffindor and Slytherin are two of the houses at Hogwarts, along with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff," Malfoy explains. "Before students begin their first year, they are sorted into one of them based on personality traits."

"What are Gryffindors like?"

Malfoy's lips curl up, deepening his sneer. "The Sorting Hat, the one device used to gauge which house is right for the student, usually says they're noble and brave. But they're also impulsive and prone to doing things without thinking. They also tend to be very narrow-minded and set in their ways."

It relieves Harry a bit to hear Malfoy confirming what his friends had already told him. They say he is noble and brave, though sometimes he does not feel that way. Harry can certainly see Ron being impulsive, though he is not sure that any of his friends are narrow-minded. Hermione, in particular, seems very open-minded and not prone to doing things without thought. She thinks too much, Harry muses. Maybe she is not a Gryffindor? And his other friends? Neville does not seem particularly brave. More loyal than anything and very kind. Maybe they were not Gryffindors?

"And what are Slytherins like?" Somehow Harry knows exactly the kind of words Malfoy will say. The blond does not seem the type to acknowledge that anyone is better than himself, especially if he comes from a rival house. There is an air of superiority that he holds in his demeanor.

"We're ambitious," Malfoy answers. "We also tend to be cunning and adaptable to any situation. Unlike you Gryffindors," he spews, "who are as stiff and as unforgiving as stones."

Something claws inside Harry, something that protests what Malfoy is saying, but while some of it he cannot believe, there are bits that he almost thinks are true. But without proof, how can he even start to believe this unbelievable truth? "Prove it," Harry demands. "Prove you're a wizard."

Malfoy takes something out of his sleeve, the stick Harry had seen earlier. He waves it at Harry and whispers, "_Silencio_"

Harry sees silver strands float from the stick, and he is glad they are in the back corner of the café where no one can really see them. It is a nice parlor trick, Harry muses, but it is nothing more than a trick, an illusion. Interesting how Malfoy had used Latin for his spell casting. Silencio, from Harry's little knowledge of the language, means silence. _Nice try, Malfoy_, Harry says, knows he says it, but his ears do not hear a thing. He tries again, _Damn you, Malfoy!_

"It's a silencing charm," Malfoy explains. "You won't be able to talk as long as you're under it, and since it's not a particularly difficult spell I could keep it up for a very long time without draining my innate magic. However," he says, flicking his wand, "as nice as it would be to not have to hear your annoying voice, the purpose of this visit is to inform you about your true self. To do that, you'll need your voice. _Finite Incantatem!_"

"Fuck you," Harry snaps, his eyes narrowing in exasperation. "Couldn't you use another spell?"

Malfoy smirks smugly. "If I had, would you have thought it a mere trick then? I thought using a spell on you would get the best results, besides it's not noticeable as much to the ones that are here. Magic and muggles tend not to mix very well."

"Muggles? What the bloody hell?"

"Non-magical people," Malfoy answers while tapping his fingers on the table. "Though I suppose you could consider yourself a muggle, considering you've been living as one for who knows how long? At least five years. That's how long it's been since I last saw you."

"I've been living like this for three years," Harry mutters, not knowing why he feels like he ought to tell this to the blond. "The accident happened five years ago, but I was in a coma for two years."

Malfoy raises his eyebrows, wrinkling his otherwise smooth forehead. "I'd always wondered where they were keeping you. The papers said you were alive after defeating Voldemort, but I never guessed they were keeping you in the muggle world for all these years. I just thought you were hiding away in that mansion your godfather left you."

"So my godfather is really dead?"

"Most assuredly," Malfoy drawls. "Dead more than twelve years, thanks to you. Did you know that? You killed your own dear godfather."

Suddenly, Harry feels very cold, numb even. His friends, they said, told him Sirius had been sick. If his godfather was sick, it was not his fault. How could it be his fault? He trembles and stares into Malfoy's silver eyes, trying to figure out if he is being earnest or false. He does not want to believe this. Of course he did not kill his godfather! He is not a killer. Dropping his head, he looks down at his hands. They are small, nimble, and not very masculine.

"I do wonder if it was intentional," Malfoy remarks with a sadistic gleam in his eyes. It almost makes Harry recoil, as it is he inches his chair back a bit. "But knowing you, honorable and all that shit, you probably did it unintentionally. The tragedy of a Gryffindor, acting without thinking. No wonder your _friends_ didn't want you to remember your sordid past. Too bloody traumatic for you, I bet."

And that was the real question: why were they keeping his past from him?

-

There was a loud, impatient knock on the door. Harry knew who it was; Dr. Snape had a particular knock. It was authoritative and something that could not be ignored. Harry was not even going to try. Instead, he said, "Come in."

In his private room, his friends, Hermione and Ron, both glanced up from the photo album and shot him inquiring looks. But he did not feel like he needed to answer them, especially since they would find out shortly. After all, any moment now, his doctor was going to enter the room with his ground-eating strides. Dr. Snape could be a rather intimidating man, and there was simply no questioning his dominating presence.

The door flew open as it always did when his doctor was the one opening it. He stalked into the room like a big predator cat, ready for its next kill. Harry hoped whatever Dr. Snape's sharp tongue was going to say, it was not going to embarrass him in front of his friends. It was hard to predict whether Dr. Snape was in the mood to be encouraging or derisive. Harry would like the former, but one never knew with his doctor. Sometimes, he wondered if Dr. Snape was schizophrenic. His doctor's nice face was hardly kind, and his mean look was callous at best. It bordered on downright malicious.

"Your friends will need to leave," Dr. Snape snapped, glaring at Harry with a strange intensity.

It was definitely a strong emotion Harry saw, though he was not sure why his doctor would have any strong feelings for him. Maybe it was simple hatred, but was it typical for doctors to despise their patients? It was not like he wanted Dr. Snape to be his doctor; Dr. Snape just came recommended. And it was not like Dr. Snape had to take him as a patient either. He could have said no.

"Now!" Dr. Snape exclaimed, shifting his gaze at Harry's best friends. "I must _speak_ to Mr. Potter, privately."

"Have you spoken to—" Hermione began.

"That is none of your business, Ms. Granger," his doctor hissed. "Now if you and your boyfriend would please leave, I would appreciate a private moment with my patient."

Hermione had the dignity to blush and snuck a glance at Ron, who was also a little pink. Harry rolled his eyes. His two friends were far too obvious about liking each other. As much as he was a little apprehensive about change—having just adjusted to being Harry—he did want his friends to be happy. He also knew that it was only a matter of time before they got together.

"Good day, Dr. Snape," Hermione muttered, her brief frown disappearing when she glanced toward Harry. She leaned over and kissed his forehead. Harry noticed with distracted curiosity that Dr. Snape was glaring at Hermione quite severely. "Bye, Harry," she whispered. "We'll see you later, alright?"

"Yeah, alright," Harry murmured and smiled. He reached over and squeezed Hermione's hand. "It'll be fine. Honestly," he said, glancing toward his doctor, "Dr. Snape isn't that bad. I've gotten used to him."

"Bye mate," Ron murmured, giving him a grin. "Come on, 'Mione, let's go."

Ron grabbed Hermione by the arm and pulled her out of the room. Harry watched them leave. When they were gone, he turned his attention to Dr. Snape and grinned broadly. "Physical therapy again, I assume?"

His doctor pursed his lips together and nodded curtly. "Aren't you the raving genius? After all, it is only what you do everyday at 4."

Biting the inside of his cheeks, Harry reminded himself that his doctor was always like this. He really ought to be used to it by now, and he really should not get irritated. Almost everyday was the same. At least today, Dr. Snape's odd assistant was missing. Harry tended to notice that his doctor was quite a bit nicer when Albus was not present. Maybe the old man made Dr. Snape feel vulnerable too. If so, it was no wonder Dr. Snape felt more comfortable when Albus was gone.

"Well, what are you doing still lying in bed?" Dr. Snape asked sharply. "Get up and get ready. I don't have all day you know."

Harry pushed the covers off and crawled out of bed. It took him a while, but he managed to stand a bit shakily in front of his doctor. "Okay," Harry said. "I'm ready."

"Yes, I suppose you are," Dr. Snape remarked, staring at him with unreadable dark eyes. "Always the presentable one, are you not?"

Glancing down at his wrinkled pajamas, Harry shrugged. It was not like he was seeking to impress anyone, now was he? It was just him and his doctor, nothing really formal. Besides, he had the feeling he was not really a person who cared about his appearance. At least now it did not matter, and his friends had told him he was a lot like who he used to be.

"Follow me," his doctor demanded, heading toward the physical therapy room in a much slower pace than usual. It was with this action that Harry thought that his doctor did care about him. "Hurry up!"

Harry hid a grin when he saw that Dr. Snape was not moving any faster than he had been. "How are you today?" he inquired, stumbling a bit as he moved as fast as he could.

"As always, I will be much better once we are done with this," his doctor retorted.

"Dr. Snape?"

His doctor turned around and glared at him.

"Did you know me before this?"

His doctor was quiet for a second, his expression utterly blank before he scowled. "Are you remembering something?"

"Sometimes," Harry whispered, his eyes glancing down at the floor, "I think I _know_ you."

-

"You still haven't proven that I am a wizard," Harry remarks after a long uncomfortable stillness. So he is a murderer. He killed his godfather, killed Sirius. Yet, somehow, he feels nothing but a deep chill. There is no guilt, no remorse, because he does not remember Sirius nor can he really care. He is afraid of what else Malfoy will tell him, but he says anyway, "You have done magic, but I have not."

Malfoy narrows his eyes and shrugs his shoulders. "I would rather not give you my wand for your first attempt at magic in five years. I don't even know if the wand will work for you."

"Is that what the stick is? A wand?" Harry inquires, trying hard—desperately hard to remain calm. "I thought wizards used staffs."

"Yes," Malfoy retorts sharply, "_my _stick is _my _wand, and no, wizards don't use staffs. What are you? A Lord of the Rings freak?"

There are few things that annoy Harry. One of them, unfortunately, is when people make fun of his Arda fetish. "I'll have you know Tolkien's work is a thing of genius, imaginative, creative, and—"

"No," Malfoy snaps, "it's boring, dull, and overly wordy. And yes, I would know because I've read it. I actually think," he murmurs, looking intently at Harry, "that a series of books based on your life would be an extraordinary fantasy story."

Harry snorts and stares down at his cold cup of coffee. Was his life a story worth telling?—according to Malfoy, yes; and to him, no. Of course, he has no idea of this life that Malfoy has told him. It is farfetched, and yet his mind refuses to deny it. "I don't see what's so interesting about me," he remarks.

"You've heard what I've said," Malfoy responds. "And if you've read Tolkien's books, you know what magic can do. Think of Voldemort as Sauron, only in this world. What Sauron would have done to Middle Earth is what Voldemort would have done to Britain and then the rest of the world. You saved us, and how can we not think of you as interesting… when you lived when you should have died, succeeded where you should have failed?"

Silence reigns while Malfoy waves away a waiter who approaches him to take his order. Harry has no idea what to say, what to do. There is too much information to absorb. According to Malfoy, he is not only a wizard and a killer, but a savior too. Harry wants none of this, and yet he cannot deny being curious. Already he has taken steps he should not have, so should he take the plunge?

"Malfoy…?"

The blond shakes his head. "Draco, call me Draco."

"Draco," Harry says, "prove to me I am a wizard."

Mal—Draco inclines his head. "Your request is mine to give."

**TBC**

A/N: It goes w/o saying reviews are nice (even if it's to say write more!) Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.


	5. Underneath the Rug

**AND SO LIFE GOES ON  
**_part of "The Aevum Series"  
_by Nenya Entwhistle

Betas: Lesameschelle and Ziasudra (w/o them this is impossible). I adore you two!

Chapter Five  
_Underneath the Rug_

Today is the day.

Harry knows it when he wakes up. It puts him off his schedule. But he tries to focus on getting undressed and forgetting what is to come. But first he must shower. He takes out a new change of clothes and he thoughtlessly tosses them to the ground like he does to his pajamas. It wrinkles the clothes, and while he doesn't mind this, he has a feeling Draco Malfoy's nose will crinkle with distaste. He dumps the creased clothes into the hamper, shucks his boxers, and gets into the shower. He is too busy thinking of how Draco will prove he's a wizard that he turns on the cold water instead of the hot water. He shivers for a minute or so, and then realizes he is going to remain cold unless he turns on the hot water. He curses and twists the knob.

The only good thing about being off his usual routine is that he is early to the shelter. He actually beats Becky and ends up waiting outside, standing awkwardly on the steps and thinking he really ought to have brought a change of clothes. They might not be crumpled yet, but it is hardly likely they will stay that way. The kids will want to play and he can never say no—so he knows he will oblige and get messy. He sighs and taps his finger against the brick. Such is life, he thinks.

He knows his friends are going to be unhappy with him when he tells them he has to cancel their regular Friday get together. He hasn't done that since… since he cannot remember when. But it was a long, long time ago. However, Draco told him that if he wants to know before next Thursday, he has to come today—this evening, actually. He has yet to call, has yet to tell them, but he will. He promises himself he will call right before he has to be there, even though he is a little afraid of Hermione's lecture _on the responsibility of giving a 24-hour window for canceling anything._

"You're here early," Becky remarks, startling the shit out of him.

He jumps and then sheepishly scratches the back of his head. "I guess I am."

She chuckles. "For you, this is like the unthinkable."

He smiles weakly and follows her in after she opens the door. After helping her turn the lights on and get everything up and running, he retreats to his office and stares at the walls. He knows Becky would like to chat with him, but she respects his space and leaves him be. He glances at the clock on the wall and it reads 7:45. God, he puts his head down on his arm, he is so fucking early. And it is a long while before he can meet Draco at 5:00 at the train station.

It gives him too much time to think, to be afraid that if there is proof—then he must conclude that everything Draco has said is true. Right now, there is a part of him that doubts this. It is possible that Draco is a wizard, and that he is not. Only a small part of him believes this because the way Draco treats him and such leads him to believe he has known him for quite some time. Also there is the fact that Draco would never talk to him as someone so powerful if he was not. It is not in Draco to overestimate someone, and if anything Harry believes he prefers to understate a person's abilities and magnify their faults. And, _god_, his world is going to come crashing down.

"HARRY!" Teddy exclaims, running and launching himself at him. "You're early today!"

"Yeah," Harry says, "I guess I am."

Teddy plants both hands with their cold fingertips on Harry's cheeks. "Why?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"Nightmares?" Teddy asks, rubbing his fingers against Harry's cheeks as if trying to suck the warmth out of him. Selfish bugger, Harry thinks affectionately.

"No. I was just… thinking."

"Worried about something?"

Harry looks carefully at the boy, sitting in his lap. "How come you're so smart?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Teddy drops his hands to his lap. "Aunt Pat says she's worried when she usually can't sleep."

Harry frowns, and he guesses that it's a recent occurrence because Patricia has looked very tired recently. "What she is worried about?"

"Money problems," Teddy answers and rests his head on Harry's chest. "It's worse than usual. Uncle Victor got laid off." The boy shudders and wraps his arms around himself. "Aunt Pat's been working a lot more. She's almost never home." He nibbles on his bottom lip. "After she picks me up and drops me off, she goes to her next job." Teddy leans up and whispers, "I hide in the closet, where Uncle Victor can't find me, so he can't scream at me for being a _worthless_, stupid little boy."

For some reason, Teddy's words make Harry feel very cold and very lonely. It's like a feeling of a memory, like the ones he gets when he sees photos of people that he knew well in the past. He gets the most from Remus, a little from Sirius, and almost none from his parents, which is weird. Harry has wondered about it, maybe tonight Draco can answer his many questions, explain the many discrepancies.

"Uncle Victor isn't right, is he?"

What Teddy says jolts Harry from his thoughts. He quickly wraps his arms around Teddy and whispers fiercely, "No, your uncle is dead wrong. You are sweet, lovable boy. Just listen to what your Aunt says."

"But—"

"No buts," Harry states firmly, bending down to brush a kiss on Teddy's forehead and thinking this feels familiar in an odd way. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with you, though I wish I could change one thing about you."

Teddy's forehead wrinkles as much as a child's can. "What?"

"I wish you didn't have to grow up so fast."

-

He liked watching the children after lunch when most of them were knackered from playing all morning and having food in their tummies, when they fell asleep on their mats to take their afternoon nap. Even the exuberant and tireless Teddy was taking a nap today, and Harry watched the child with longing and a sense of helpless bitterness. It was not like he would ever have a child of his own flesh and blood, he thought. _Not when I'm gay._

"You look tragic," Becky remarked, coming up behind him to peer over his shoulder at the kids. "What are you thinking about?"

"Them," Harry whispered, gesturing to the sleeping children. "I want what I can't have."

"You can always adopt."

"Do you think," he began with acrimony, "they're going to let a gay, single man adopt a child?"

"I would," she said. "You're loads better than the single shitheads I date. You're great with children. I think you must have had a wonderful father. Or maybe mother, but you know how to be a good parent figure. Most of the blokes I date are absolutely criminal with the kids here."

Harry laughed. "I think Frank was the worst of the lot."

"Have you noticed I haven't brought any of my boyfriends around in a while?" Becky queried. "Frank was awful! The things he was saying to the kids! It's like he'd never been young himself. Insensitive prick."

"Are you still dating him?"

Becky laughed and smiled sheepishly. "Of course, though heaven knows why."

"You love him," Harry stated.

"It's irrational."

Harry smiled back. "Since when is love rational?"

-

"This is Malfoy Manor," Draco declares, waving his arms grandly at an equally magnificent estate. "I would be careful not to touch anything at all, whether or not it looks dangerous. Some of the items are meant to look appealing and are not meant to be touched unless you would like to be cursed." Draco whispers something and the doors open. "Stick close to me, and try not to stare at the portraits. Some of them have beguiling spells on them."

These are reminders, Harry knows. Draco has already warned him about the paintings that will move, the sinister objects on the tables, and walls that seem to watch everything. Of course, Harry would have liked Draco to have warned him of apparition. The only warning he got is when Draco asks: "Have you ever been one place one instant and another, the next?"

And here they are, in the majestic mansion that Draco calls home. No wonder, Harry muses, that Draco is such an arrogant and egotistical person. To grow up in such a place must have given the blond a sense of superiority and whatnot. Draco probably couldn't change even if he wanted to. This is who Draco is, and Harry wonders what kind of family history he might have.

They walk through a long hallway, then make a right turn into another long passage way. They make so many turns, left and right, and right and left that Harry has no idea how anyone can find their way around such a place. He already has a headache thinking about it. And he has no idea how to get to the front door anymore.

"And here we are," Draco announces, gesturing for Harry to enter into the room first. "It's possible you can do wandless magic, but I thought it best for you to use one today. It will help you focus better. So go ahead, choose a wand, Harry."

Harry stares in absolute amazement at the room. It's a huge room filled with wands all around: some displayed in glass cases, other on wooden stands, and the rest in a pile on the ground. They are all in different sizes, various colors, and some are dull and others are polished shiny. This collection is amazing, in every sense of the word. Harry wonders whether it is Draco that collected these wands or if he inherited them from his ancestors.

"There ought to be one that suits you," Draco remarks and shrugs. "You could say my family is into collecting the wands of dead wizards and witches."

"Dead?"

Draco glances at him and raises an eyebrow. "You don't seriously think a wizard or witch would let you confiscate his or her wand for a private collection unless they were dead, do you?"

-

"You're here, Harry!" Ginny exclaimed, running up to hug him. Behind her, he saw the rest of the Weasley family crammed into Ron's flat. "You're finally out of the hospital! And you look very good, as if you hadn't been knocked out for the past two—"

"Ginevra Weasley!" Mrs. Weasley snapped. "That is hardly the type of thing to say to a guest, even if Harry is considered an honorary Weasley."

Ginny glanced toward her mother and shrugged her shoulders, winking at him on the sly. "I can't help it if I'm a bit on the blunt side," she retorted, stepping away from him. "You ought to blame my brothers for teaching me to have a sharp tongue." She gestured to the numerous male redheads. "They always liked to pick on me and the only thing I could do as a weak little girl was to use my tongue."

Harry watched the varied expressions on each of her brothers with interest: the one in dragon-hide boots was amused and so was the one with long hair, standing next to him, the stern-looking one seemed putout, while the twins seemed to be trying to stick something into the disapproving one's back pockets. Ron (his first and best friend) was just rolling his eyes.

"You broke my nose," Ron remarked. "So I don't think you were a weak little thing at all."

Ginny laughed and it was a pure and lively sound. "No, you are!"

Ron turned red and he turned to Harry, whispering, "This is my family, and it's still not too late to back out of being an honorary Weasley. After all, you've got the memory loss excuse."

Harry saw all of them watching him and Ron closely, and Harry smiled at them reassuringly. "I'm glad to be part of this family."

-

"I don't know what I'm looking for," Harry mutters, holding up another wand and waving it in the air. As with the other wands that he has held, nothing happens. When Draco had demonstrated, there had been sparks shooting around haphazardly, which he said meant the wand was not compatible with him. "Nothing's happening."

Draco frowns and takes the wand from Harry's hand. Once again it sparks for him, shooting out a blue light that hits the wall. Draco quickly puts the wand down and remarks, "I have no idea why none of the wands are reacting to you. But what you're supposed to be feeling is sort of like an internal glow, a feeling of connection. Basically as a wizard, the wand completes you. You're looking for a feeling of being linked to something that makes you whole." Draco shrugs and pushes aside a few of the wands. He grabs the slender box underneath and opens it. "Try this one."

"I doubt it'll work," Harry says, feeling like maybe Draco is wrong and he isn't a wizard after all. But then why would Draco say he is if he is not? Because there is no doubt that Draco is a wizard. And from the looks of this monstrosity of a mansion, a filthy rich wizard at that. "None of the others I've tried worked. And I've tried, I don't know, about a hundred or so of your wand collection already. My wrist is getting tired of swishing and flicking."

"Just take it," Draco snaps. "This is the last one."

Harry reluctantly picks up a slender wand made of yew wood that is a bit longer than the rest. He expects to feel nothing and he is about to say, 'I'm obviously not a wizard' when he feels something. He stares at the wand and it starts to glow a deep emerald shade before it fades. Shocked, he drops the wand and it clatters onto the marble floor.

"So this wand is the one," Draco remarks, bending over with a piece of cloth in his hand to retrieve it. "I should have known it would be this one. Who else but you could ever touch this without feeling any side affects?"

"Whose wand is that?"

Draco places the wand back into the box. "Do you really want to know?"

Harry takes the box. "Yes."

"Voldemort's, of course."

-

He was probably not supposed to hear this, but he was nonetheless. He should feel bad about eavesdropping, especially since it was obviously about him. And yet he didn't think he was hearing anything that would cause any serious problems or that he should feel guilty about. Of course, that did not stop him from feeling that way.

"I don't see why he should spend his time here," Ron muttered. Harry wondered if it was in exasperation or something else. "Don't you think he should be doing other stuff, especially since this atmosphere is probably not the best for his memories?"

"I think it's a good place for him," Hermione remarked, sounding insistent. Harry was used to her bossiness and wondered if Ron knew he almost always let Hermione get her way. "He does good things here, and I think the children need him. Besides, what would you have him do? Not many people will hire him without any work experience. And it's not like he can remember his prior experiences, so what is he supposed to do? Be a bum?"

Ron sighed and probably shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, but I don't think this place is good for him. I find it depressing."

"I think it's the opposite," Hermione whispered fervently, just loud enough for Harry to catch her words. "I think it's a wonderful place of hope, and I think Harry sees it the same way. It's a place he can be useful, where he's needed. Besides, you can see it from watching him that he loves working here. Would you take that from him when he has nothing?"

"That's not true," Ron protested. "He has us."

"He needs more than us," Hermione said gently. "And don't pester him about working here anymore. If you must know, I found this place and I thought it perfect for him."

"Hermione—"

She did something to make Ron stop, and Harry had no time to move when she walked out of the door and saw him standing there like the guilty eavesdropper that he was. She did not say anything nor did she reprimand him like he expected. All she did was wink and whisper into his ear, "I meant every word. This place is perfect for you to find yourself."

-

The wand has done nothing: no sparks, no glowing, no anything. Draco has taught him several spells: _wingardium leviosa, accio, silencio_ and none of them seems to work for him. The stick of cherry wood in his hand no longer glows a deep green. It stays lifeless as if it is nothing more than a dead twig from a tree.

"I wonder," Draco murmurs, tracing his finger from Harry's right hand, but not touching not the wand, "if this is the reason you are in the muggle world. The reason they did not tell you that you were a wizard." Draco steps forward and leans over, his lips so close. "Have you lost your magic, Harry?"

Harry's eyes drop to the wand in his hand, watching Draco's slender finger wandering on his skin. It leaves a hot trail that makes Harry nervous, especially when he realizes that Draco is a very, very good-looking man and is standing far too close than is appropriate. And there is no real indication that Draco's inclinations are like his own. Small hints though, like this touching and the caress on the cheek and that hints to Harry that the blond might lean his way, but still no substantial evidence.

"I don't know."

Draco uses his other hand to tilt Harry's chin up. "But if you lost your magic, then the wand should not have reacted at all, regardless of the fact that this is a brother wand."

"Brother wand?"

"It means your original wand, wherever it is, is very similar to the wand you now hold in your hand. In each wand there is a core made of some part of a magical animal. Yours was made from a phoenix feather, as is Voldemort's, and the reason your wands are brothers is because the feathers came from the same phoenix."

"Not that it really matters," Harry mutters, removing himself from Draco's touch. "Obviously I am no longer a wizard and this life that you're showing me is useless. No wonder my friends didn't tell me about this. I would only feel pain in the loss of who I was, and I was wrong to come here."

Draco grabs Harry's wrist and pulls him toward him. "Did you not hear what I said? I said that if you lost your magic the wand would not have reacted at all, which means there is still magic inside of you and I don't know why you can't do the spells. What I have taught you, shown you would be like child's play for a wizard of your power. Do you understand me? You could probably do all this wandless, which is difficult for a mere wizard such as I, but to you it would be easy."

"What are you trying to say?" Harry snaps, trying to removing Draco's hand from his own.

"What I'm trying to say, you idiotic moron," Draco drawls, "is that I think there is something blocking your innate magic. But I think I have something that will prove to you without a doubt that you are a wizard."

"And how do you plan to do that when my magic is being blocked?"

Draco smiles sinisterly. "I would stand back if I were you. If it fails, you won't want to be within striking range."

-

"I still can't remember anything!" Harry exclaimed, waving his hands furiously in the air. "It's been bloody months, and I'm perfectly healthy but I still have no idea who the fuck I am!"

His doctor stared at him with a neutral face and dark eyes. "Of course you can't remember anything," Dr. Snape said sharply. "When you're being an emotional wreck like you are now, you don't get anything done that _will_ help your memories return! How do you expect to regain anything in this state, even if it has been months? If life was so easy, then where would the challenge be?"

"But what if… I never remember?"

Dr. Snape stepped toward him and took a hold of him by his chin. "You will remember, Harry, because you must. And I will try my best to make it possible, just believe in me and do what you think is right and not what others say you need to do. Sometimes, what seems right is really all a lie."

Harry stared at his doctor, getting lost in the fathomless gaze. Dr. Snape had said odd things before, but never so blatantly. It was in these times, when his assistant wasn't there, that Harry knew that his doctor cared about him. It did not stop him from being a bit of a bastard, but he was certainly less of one today. And there was something else, though he was not sure what.

"But how will I know?" he asked, confused and curious.

Dr. Snape released him from his hold. "You have good instincts, use them."

-

_"Serpensortia!"_

A dark green, almost black jet of magic springs from Draco's wand and lands on the floor with a distinct thump. When the smoke dissipates, Harry stares with horror and fascination at the large black snake that materializes, hissing at him. He takes a step back and immediately draws the serpent's attention. Its hooded head flares wider as if to scare him further, as if it feeds on his fear.

"Are you crazy?" Harry whispers. "What is this suppose to prove?"

He catches a vague smile on the blond's face, but his attention is too wrapped up in the legless reptile in front of him hissing in a threatening manner. "It is suppose to prove everything," Draco answers softly. "You have the innate ability to talk to snakes, and it is a form of magic so natural I don't think they can block it."

_"What do you mean I can talk to snakes?"_ Harry hisses and sees the snake draw back in surprise.

_I have wondered where you are_ the snake hisses as he slithers closer into his seeing range, and Harry's eyes widen when he understands. _You have not called me in a long time, and I have wondered where you have been. So tell me, Harry, what will you have me do?_

_What are you talking about?_ Harry inquires, his entire being perplexed because he knows that talking to any animal is hardly a normal occurrence of one who believes himself to be non-magical. _Do what?_

_Will you ask me to help you like you did once before?_ the snake answers as if it is obvious. _To spy? To kill? To serve you if I wish it again? I did not mind, you are a rare one, a special one like the Great One and not like the Terrible One. You have always been mine, and you have finally called me again to your side._

Harry takes a few steps backwards and stumbles to the ground, falling hard on his arse. It gives the dark serpent the perfect opportunity to slither up to him and place his poisonous fangs inches from Harry's vulnerable throat. _I have no idea who you are and what you are talking about. I did not call you_ he hisses and points to Draco. _He did._

_He might have called_ the snake hisses, turning his head for a second toward Draco before refocusing on Harry, _but you are the one that draws me to you. Do you not remember me?_

Harry shakes his head. _I do not remember anything!_

_So it is like that, I see and I understand. I am Gwrtheyrn, a serpent you called long ago to help you in learning what you said you needed to know. To summon power as you needed, you had to have a strong familiar and you asked for me, choosing me over the others as it should be._ The long, black serpent slithers further up his body and wraps himself around Harry's neck, loosely and gently. _I will remind you only this once: you are **my** human._ The snake opens his jaw and bites down on Harry's neck, hard and somehow it does not hurt, though he hears Draco's cry of panic and sees the blond running toward him. Draco tries to grab the serpent but it disappears before he can.

"Are you okay Harry?" Draco asks, his face suddenly much kinder when he looks worried. Harry bets that Draco did not expect the snake to bite him, and the anxiety on his face was rather amusing. "The bloody snake didn't hurt you, did he?" The blond kneels down and touches the spot where Gwrtheyrn bit him. "I don't think the snake was poisonous, but we should probably get you some healing potions just to make sure. And what the fuck did you say to make it bite you? You stupid, lamebrain…"

Harry moves his hand, placing it over Draco's. "I'm fine," he states firmly, pulling Draco's hand off of his neck. "What I'm more worried about is what the snake said to me."

Draco frowns. "What did it say?"

"He said I was his."

Draco shrugs and shakes Harry's hand off of his. "You need to get this looked at."

Harry finds himself being pulled to his feet and basically dragged from the wand room into the hallway, down it, and making a turn into another. When they get to wherever Draco wants them to be, Harry feels himself pushed into a chair and sees Draco summon a small glass vial filled with a nasty green liquid. Before Draco can pour some of the liquid onto the white cloth, Harry says softly, "I believe you. I believe I'm a wizard."

Draco drops the vial and it shatters onto the ground in hundreds of little pieces. "Merlin, damn you, you always knew how catch me by surprise."

There is something about the way he curses that reminds Harry of something and he says the first thing that comes to mind: "Actually, you were the one always spying on me for your father."

Draco stops in mid-fixing spell and inclines his head in acknowledgement that Harry is right. "I think you just remembered something," he remarks and whispers the fixing spell that reforms the broken vial. "So Harry, now that you have proof that you are a wizard and you believe me, do you trust me to tell you and show you everything you have been missing?" He dabs the green liquid onto the white cloth and places it on the two punctures on Harry's neck. It feels cool to the touch and tingly like magic. "Much better," he hears Draco murmur. "The bite marks are gone." Draco lowers his hand, replaces the vial in the cabinet, and banishes the cloth. "Because I will if you want."

"But why?" Harry inquires, staring into those beautiful grey eyes. "Why would you help me when you hate me?"

"I've already answered that."

"You said," Harry says softly, "that it would send my life into complete chaos. That it helps me and hurts me, but other than that you get nothing from this. So why? Why Draco? Why do this?"

"Because I have nothing else to do." Draco looks away, and the sunlight catches his face and makes him look like a fallen angel. "So do you want my help or not?"

"I don't think it is in you to give aid freely for nothing."

"It's not," he agrees, "but I'm offering it nonetheless."

"Then it would be foolish for me not to take it, wouldn't it?"

Draco shrugs and turns back, the shadows darkening his pale features. "It's foolish either way."

**TBC**

A/N: Anyway, as always I appreciate your feedback. Let me know how you think the story is developing as well as characters etc. By now, I think Harry's past lover is obvious and I've already started the prequel involving their relationship which will be released sometime near the end or when this is done. And hopefully many more questions arise w/ this chapter even if it's not as action-packed.

Thanks in advance for reviewing, my muse truly appreciates it as do I and my betas (who find the comments helpful in keeping me grounded). You guys are wonderful!

Help me get an ipod (pretty please? I'll write a ficlet for you if you do). You must signup AND complete an offer to count. Here's the link (cut and paste an take (dot) ):  
www(dot)freeiPods(dot)com/?r7565453


	6. Forget Not This

**AND SO LIFE GOES ON…  
**Part of _"The Aevum Series"_  
by Nenya Entwhistle

Thanks to my wonderful betas: Lesameschelle & Ziasudra. I couldn't write this w/o their help and comments!

Chapter Six  
Forget Not This

He sits on his bed trying to forget what he now knows.

_"People worshipped you for something you did when you were a mere baby. It was absurd placing so much faith in you as the next great savior of the Wizarding World, especially when all you could do consciously was cry. I never believed you were great, I still don't—but you are very, very powerful. If you weren't, you would never have defeated him."_

Harry flips through the yellowed pages of a book with newspaper clippings. Most of them are of him but there are some from the war. There's a list of people that died, he does not expect to recognize any of them, but his finger stops at one familiar name. Is there some truth in the lies he has been told?

_"He was killed a few years ago by a madman,"_ Hermione's voice echoes in his head. _"But the madman is gone now, locked away." _

"Remus Lupin," he whispers. "Did a madman really kill you?"

He senses an intuition in him that says yes, that this is no lie. Yet he is not sure of anything anymore. Draco was right in saying that his life would be thrown into chaos. What is truth and untruth?

He has no idea anymore.

_"War is a terrible thing,"_ Draco says, pointing to the pictures of mothers crying while holding their dead children. _"It destroys families, lives, and the future. Look at what it did to your own family, but you were the hero everyone wanted. You did exactly what the Wizarding World wanted, you stopped it. Weren't you such a good, sacrificing Gryffindor?" _

The first time he only hears the information, but the echo in his head this time sounds bitter. There are moments when he does not have a clue why Draco is helping him. It makes no sense if he hates him. Even if he has nothing to do, why this?

_"I am not doing this out of the goodness of my heart,"_ Draco says sharply, as if Harry would misinterpret if a kinder tone was used. _"Nor is it because I feel sorry for you, it's because I want to do this."_

He personally thinks Draco is lying to himself.

_"You were 23 when you defeated him, a young man facing Voldemort, a wizard that might have looked less than a man, but was possibly at his strongest ever. I don't think there was a wizard alive that could have stopped him, but you."_ Draco smirks as if he is going to tell him something astonishing. _"It wasn't your great skill as a wizard that defeated him. As powerful as you might be, I don't think your innate magic is even half of Voldemort's. But there is something about you that's different, that the Killing Curse, **Avada Kedavra**, for some reason didn't work on you." _

No wonder Draco smiles, Harry muses. He turns another page of the scrapbook and sees a picture of his doctor, Severus Snape, appearing haggard, beaten and a little sad. It's a strange look for the usually harsh-looking man. But it makes sense in a way, though his expression is more depressing than he would think from a Professor who hated him.

_"You, being ridiculously self-sacrificing stepped in front of a Killing Curse meant for Severus Snape, why, I have no idea," _Draco sneers lightly. _"I might like the man, but you certainly didn't. There was nothing between you and him but hatred." _

The picture makes little sense though. If Snape hates him, should he not rejoice?

_"You think far too much of yourself, Potter,"_ Snape snaps when he asks the man whether he hates him. _"Why ever would I want to conjure enough energy to feel that way about you? It would take more effort than you are worth." _

Why answer if Snape is going to give an answer like that?

_"You were Dumbledore's Golden Boy and you could do no wrong. He favored—" _

"Albus Dumbledore?"

"Yes, the Headmaster of Hogwarts favored you above all else as you were his boy hero."

To him, Albus is nothing more than Snape's assistant. Thinking of him as something more, such as the great wizard that Draco says he is—Harry finds it difficult. There is little feeling of a powerful wizard beneath the cheerful, twinkling exterior. Now, in Dr. Snape, Harry can see a wizard and a strong one at that. He senses a strength and control ordinary men don't have. Though maybe Albus tries to seem weak and vulnerable?

_"You have good instincts, use them,"_ Severus snaps.

Should he trust Draco?

-

On his answering machine, as usual on a Sunday morning, there was a message from Dr. Snape's assistant telling him he had an appointment to come in on Monday. Sometimes, he really wished they would give up on him and tell him he no longer had to see a doctor anymore. He also wished he didn't have to take his medicine. It had the tendency to make him feel overly nauseated to the point where he wished he could throw his guts up. His doctor said to eat, but eating only made him more likely to expel the contents of his stomach, which was why he didn't.

Harry stared at the medicine and debated whether to eat something first. He knew he should eat, but really, why should he if was not going to change anything? He knew and had told his doctor, but still Dr. Snape insisted that he eat. Did the man not care if he threw up or not?

Harry wrinkled his nose and popped the pills into his mouth. He took a glass of water and washed it down. It would be a good half an hour before he would start feeling ill. He would become dizzy and a bit groggy, but other than that he would be fine as long as he didn't eat beforehand.

He wondered if sleeping was against the rules too, not that he cared. Sleep was good.

-

Saturday mornings are weird. Harry has no idea what to do with himself. It's not like Friday when he goes to see his old friends or Monday when he has his doctor appointments. It's just Saturday. He supposes he could call Ron or Hermione and ask what they're up to, but he doesn't think he can act normally around them when he knows the lies they have fabricated.

And Draco said not to do anything stupid while he is away.

_Damn Draco and his business trip,_ Harry curses. Now he is stuck here in No Man's Land, trapped on an island full of questions with no answers. He twists around on the bed and buries his head into the pillow. He wishes that he was sleeping and that when he wakes up this had never happened.

But it has.

-

One Saturday, Harry had gotten it into his head to drop by Ron's apartment for a random house call. He knew that his friends had always warned him to call beforehand, but this was supposed to be a surprise. He had even stopped at a floral shop along the way to buy a housewarming bouquet of daisies. He didn't really have a reason to drop by, just thought it would be nice to go there without them having to urge him to come over. He hated feeling like an intruding pest, especially now they have started dating.

He felt like he was a pretty bad friend when he hadn't been all excited for Ron and Hermione, when they announced about a year after he had woken up from his coma that they were dating. He had been stunned at the news that Friday, not really sure how to react, and that was why he decided to do this—to say that he did approve. He assumed that Hermione would be spending the night and even if she wasn't, the daisies were a nice gesture. Ron would probably be perplexed, but he could always say defensively that what else was a gay guy suppose to get?

Besides, he hadn't a clue what to get them and he felt it was bad if he dropped by without anything. White and yellow daisies it was. They were pretty, cheerful, bright and exactly what Harry hoped their relationship would be: _happy._

The only problem was, he couldn't find the apartment. He stood between the two doors where he usually stood to knock on Ron's flat, but there was only a blank wall with no door on which to knock. How odd, he thought, touching the wall and wondering where the door was. He could have sworn this was where Ron's flat was, but maybe he had walked into the wrong building. He heard a familiar voice coming from the wall, squinted hard, and a flash was all he remembered.

He blinked and stared down at the bouquet he was clutching. "Why did I buy daisies?"

-

Saturday has gone by with him doing nothing more than sitting around thinking. If he has to go through another day like that he thinks he'll end up crazy. He has no idea what to do on a Sunday, especially since he is avoiding his friends—at least until Draco gets back on Thursday. He knows he cannot handle pretending to be oblivious to what has happened, not with his friends. Phone calls he can handle because he knows his face will betray more than his voice.

He opens a book on retrograde amnesia Hermione gave to him a few weeks after he had gotten out of the hospital. She had dropped it off one day without Ron in tow, which Harry had thought was a little weird. She usually went everywhere with Ron, at least he didn't tend to see one without the other and that was before they had started dating. He could only recall a handful of times when he had seen her by herself, that time with the book and when she had taken him to the shelter. Other than that, she was pretty much always with Ron. It was both cute and strange.

The oddness only occurs to him, when thinking about everything that Draco has told him. Draco had said the three of them had been inseparable. So why had Hermione decided to do this alone? She had randomly dropped the book off at a time he had definitely not been expecting, and she had—he recalled—seemed breathless as if she were out of time. Was this book a clue? Is she trying to help him?

He flips the book open and his eyes widen when he sees highlighted phrases and notes jotted to the side. This is Hermione's book, her studying on his condition, and the more he turns the pages the more writing is scribbled to the side in her neat, precise hand, so much in fact that there are multiple stickies on a page. There are several pages written front and back slipped in on the chapter about: _Recovering Your Memories._

He takes her notes and carefully earmarks the chapter so he can go back and read it later. As he prepares to read it, he wonders why he has never opened the book before. He remembers her telling him, _"You should read this when you have the chance, Harry. I really recommend it to you. It'll help you understand what's going on, and maybe—just maybe—you'll get your memories back one day."_

He remembers tossing the book to the side, then shelving it later when it got into the way. He hated to look at the book, to be reminded of his failures, and his inability to remember despite how hard he has tried. He had thought it was her blatant reminder for him to try harder, as if she thought he wasn't putting in enough effort. But maybe this book is the key to him remembering, but why—oh why had they never told him the truth? He would think that would work better than any book.

Why do they hide the truth? _Why did they hide the truth?_

He closes the book and puts it down on the coffee table and then picks up the note. He notices Hermione's handwriting is a bit sloppy and more cramped as he reads further and further into her speculations on how he might retrieve his memory. Like how some medications work and others don't and how he ought to follow the precise directions given to him as prescribed. How he might ask to change prescriptions if one isn't working.

But why would she want him to remember his real memories when they have been feeding him false ones? He does not understand and he cannot fathom how they could do this to him. He wants to be angry, but all he feels is confusion and helplessness. Like what he has been doing to his life—the life that really isn't his. He works at a shelter—when according to Draco—he ought to be doing great things in his life. And yet…

_"I meant every word. This place is perfect for you to find yourself,"_ Hermione whispers at the Eastside Children's Shelter, her voice so soft that Ron couldn't possibly hear. _Find yourself, **perfect** for you to **find** yourself. _

But how? But why? But…

-

Some Sundays, when there was absolutely nothing to do, Harry would sit in front of the telly and try to watch whatever programs were on. But they never held his attention, and he didn't know why. For example, football, a sport many Brits were keen on, he did not find particularly fascinating. There had to be a better sport than watching guys running on a field and kicking the ball around. It just seemed boring and stale. But what then was interesting?—he didn't know.

He switched the telly off and slumped against his couch. He was bored as usual.

-

"Harry Potter, this is Albus Dumbledore from Dr. Severus Snape's office," drones the old man's voice. Unlike some Sundays, when he has gone out because it is so boring being cooped up that he has to escape, he is at home. He does not answer because he is afraid it's Ron or Hermione, forgetting entirely that his doctor's assistant always calls at this time. "Please remember that you an appointment tomorrow at 11:00 am. Thank you and please be on time!"

Not that Albus Dumbledore is any better than Ron and Hermione. His Headmaster, Draco had said, so what the hell was he doing posing as Snape's assistant? And why the bloody hell had he even saved Snape? It's obvious, fucking obvious, that they don't like each other. Snape always tries to belittle him at every opportunity, make snide remarks when he can, and Albus is always the one giving Snape a look of reproof. And yet, why does it seem like Snape is being forced? It makes no sense, no sodding sense at all.

God, he wants to scream. _How could they?_

What makes it worst is that he knows he has to see them. He has to. If he doesn't, they will know something is off, that something is wrong, that things are not as they should be. No one can be suspicious; they cannot know that he knows.

_"Don't do anything idiotic and Gryffindorish while I'm gone,"_ Draco snaps. _"You can confront them when I'm with you and not more than one or two at time. Or else they might just decide to really get rid of your memories with a strong _obliviate_, a memory erasing spell, and then where would we be but back at square one?"_ Draco tilts Harry's head up and stares down into his eyes. _"I know they aren't using one now on you, but I'm curious as to why your memories are still gone. I've looked up what you have, amnesia, and it's rare for a person not to remember anything after so many years have gone by. They must be doing something, but what? And if not, if you really lost your memories in defeating Voldemort, then how do we get them back?"_

After what Draco has told him, does he even want to remember?

-

"Are you sure I don't know you?" Harry asked this a visit or so before. Last time his doctor had ordered him out of his office without answering him. Harry was hoping that this time, with his assistant Albus there, that Dr. Snape would actually give him an answer. It had been strange to just see his doctor leave that time because it looked like, for a moment, that he was going to say something—whatever it was. "Because…" Harry mumbled, feeling nervous at the way his doctor was studying him, "you seem almost familiar sometimes."

Whatever he was hoping for, it was not for Dr. Snape to explode. Harry saw it coming, it was a small tidal wave, like his doctor was wrestling with how to react. It built up slowly, growing stronger and then exploding unexpectedly at Harry that he nearly fell off the patient's bed.

"Don't you ever say something like that again!" his doctor shouted at him, bearing down on him as if he was a disobedient child that had done something wrong. "I am only your doctor, do you understand me? We have a working relationship and nothing more. I have never met you before, and nor would I! You are an incompetent and stupid child, who deserves everything that has happened to you!"

"How would you know?" Harry asked softly, feeling reckless and brave like his friends said he was. Was this him? "Unless you knew me?"

Albus started to say something, but his doctor waved him off. "Do I need to know you well to discern your faults? I think not. And what your friends tell you, that you're brave and honorable. Do you know what that means? It means you're foolhardy and stupid because they don't care to mention your brains or sensibility. Also, since there is no mention of your competence then you must be highly _incompetent_."

Harry opened his mouth and then shut it. His doctor was being a right prick, but then Dr. Snape always seemed to behave as if he had something stuck up his arse. What confused Harry were the times when his doctor was different, when he actually seemed almost nice. He wanted to ask why Dr. Snape was behaving like this, being such a bastard but he said instead: "Are you done insulting me?"

-

Monday signals the end of monotony. But today he dreads it. Even Teddy, with his infectious smile, does little to cheer him up. Instead, he wonders if the connection he feels to Teddy means something more than he thought it did. He feels the same sensation he has not until now begun to associate with memories that are deeply buried in him that want to come out. But why Teddy? It makes no sense. According to Draco, he had a charmed childhood, not much different from what his friends had told him. But then, thinking about what Hermione said, how is he supposed to find himself here?

"You know," Becky calls after him, "you don't have to come back unless you want to!"

She says this every time and he always comes back. He wonders if she would be shocked if he decides to take her up on that offer. It's not everyday he has to pretend that everything is fine and that he does not know that Albus Dumbledore is his old Headmaster rather than a doctor's assistant, or that he had once saved his doctor's life even though they hate each other.

He wants the train to be delayed; he wants the walk to never end, but even with these thoughts—he gets there much faster than he wants to. Harry sighs and looks at the door behind which Albus and Snape are waiting. He grits his teeth and reminds himself he will do as Draco suggests and not give anything away, not do anything bloody stupid if he can help it.

He opens the door and steps into the small waiting area and immediately walks to the front desk. What strikes him as odd is to see his doctor behind it, looking very awkward in the small desk area. Harry tries to remember if he has ever seen Dr. Snape there, and he cannot. He only sees Dr. Snape in the patient's room. Not here, not in front of a desk that Albus always sits at.

Something is wrong, something is off.

"Where's Albus?" he blurts out. It's foolish to say that, foolish to want to know because only lies will be told to him. Lies to feed his curiosity and to keep him lost. But staring as he does at this severe man—no, wizard—he wonders how a man whose life he has saved can lie to him. That is hardly the honorable thing to do. "I mean," he stammers, "he's usually here."

"Quite right," his doctor, no—Snape snaps. This man is not his doctor, who this man is as it pertains to his past life he does not know, but to call him a doctor is to keep lying to himself and he won't do that anymore. There has been enough of that already. "But today he is not."

"Why?" Harry curses his mouth, curses his inability to just shut it.

"Because he is sick," Snape retorts. "As normal, regular human beings occasionally get sick and besides, he is old—an old mani—an old man." The man frowns and curls his lips up into a sneer. "Now you will have no buffer between you and me," he states sharply. "No kind elderly assistant to try to soothe the tension between us. I'm sure you must be thrilled."

Do Snape's words—like Hermione's—have hidden meaning? Or is he just making this up to try to justify their behavior, try to lessen the awful secret they have hidden from him? He wants to believe they are helping, and if they aren't, then why? Was it because war was awful? Just hearing Draco talk about it makes his stomach curdle, and he figures that could be a reason—but still not reason enough. Is it worse then? And how much more?

"Are you just going to stand there like a petrified nitwit, or are you going to enter, Potter?" Snape growls, standing by and holding the door open. Harry nods his head quickly and walks into the hallway which leads to the patient rooms. "Follow me," Snape snarls, slamming the door shut and stalking over to the first room. "And do try to hurry up or it will be a lifetime, knowing what a stupid idiot you are, before you get your ridiculous memories back."

Harry takes a deep breath and tells himself to calm down. For whatever reason, Snape is being more vindictive than usual, but he can handle this. He can, he must, he has to. _Stay in control_, he says to himself, _don't lose it_. He bites his tongue and tries to smile, but it probably comes out more as a grimace. Not that it would likely make any difference to Snape, as the man doesn't even know how to smile.

"So tell me, Potter," Snape begins, "how have you been feeling recently?"

"The same," Harry answers, trying to keep his emotions checked, "as usual."

"Have you been following my directions to take the medicine with a meal beforehand?" Snape inquires sharply, his dark eyes staring at him with far too much probing. "It is unwise to take it without—"

"And why would it be unwise?" Harry snaps. "Why do you persist in giving me medicine that doesn't—" His hand covers his mouth as he gasps while his eyes narrow into slits. "Or is it not supposed to work?" He can feel his face burning with the anger that he has kept tightly leashed. "Tell me, _Dr. Snape_, is this medicine that's supposed to make me better all a complete hoax?"

"Why would you think that?" Snape asks, his eyes only seem to get darker.

"Because I've been taking it for three years and I still haven't gotten any better!"

"Well, if you would follow the bloody directions then maybe it would work!"

"Why should I?" Harry shrieks. "When it makes me retch my guts out!"

"That's the fucking point!"

Silence. Not even the soft noise of breathing could be heard. Snape's mouth is closed, pressed so tightly that they've turned into a flat line. Everything about the man screams of tension and repression, as if Snape knows he has gone too far—much like Harry mentally curses himself for almost saying too much. Thank goodness he has not said as much as he could, and yet he has managed to get Snape to admit something, confirm a little that his memory loss is not his fault. That he could not remember anything because they wanted to hide something from him. But then why would Snape want him to throw the medicine up, if the medicine is indeed the source of his amnesia, since he is the doctor prescribing the drug?

"That makes no sense."

Snape licks his lips and steps toward him until he is but an inch away. "Are you remembering, Harry?"

He freezes; Snape has never called him by his given name ever. His green eyes search the dark ones, trying to find anything that might clue him in to why Snape is using _Harry_ instead of _Potter_. He sees nothing he finds familiar, he can't identify—doesn't recognize—the emotions whirling in Snape's eyes. It's foreign, unfamiliar, and strange.

"Are you?"

He shakes his head slowly. "No."

"You're lying," Snape whispers like a caress. "I can see it in your eyes."

How can someone who hates him read him like that? He is lying, kind of. He knows his past, but he does not remember. A technicality, but true. He has feelings of memories, but he has yet to grasp them. "I don't remember anything."

Snape's hand grabs his chin and lifts it. "But you know more than you are telling. There is this gleam in your green eyes that tells me you know something. You have a secret. What is it?"

Harry tries to jerk his face away from Snape's touch, but only succeeds in backing himself against a wall. "What about the secret you've kept from me?" he cries and wants to yell at himself for doing something idiotic. No one is supposed to know, but now Snape does. "Don't obliviate me," he begs. "Please don't."

Snape laughs hoarsely as if he has forgotten how. "Why would I want to _obliviate_ you?" he inquires softly, darkly. "I want you to remember, but you being the stupid idiot that you are, refuse to listen to my instructions."

He tilts Harry's chin further and lowers his head. _Oh God_, Harry thinks, _it's him._

"Foolish boy," Snape whispers and kisses him. "My foolish Harry."

-

It was dark and he sat rocking back and forth on the bed. He was alone but that wasn't what perturbed him. He had been alone before, he knew that. He often felt like he was isolated and that no one really understood what he was going through. How could they? They had never had their memories ripped from them, had to start their lives over again because of a bloody accident. Nor did they feel like they were living a lie just as he did when he did not feel like the Harry Potter they said he was.

He felt scared when they said he was fearless, weak when they said he was strong, helpless when they said he was capable. It was when they said he was a beacon of light that he wanted more than ever to sink into the darkness of self-grief. He was none of the things they said he was. His friends said he was like a hero to them, so strong, brave, selfless; but he wanted nothing of the sort.

"I want to be normal again," he whispered. "Normal again."

-

A/N: Oh man, I think I adore this chapter. Wasn't Snape brilliant? And lots of points to those that guessed beforehand (even before the kiss!) So what do you think is up between Snape and Harry? Also what's going on with Hermione? You could basically sit down a long time and dissect every scene, which is what I did to write it. Let me know what you think, how all these pieces fit together b/c it lets me know what I still need to write to steer you guys in the right direction and sometimes I even get flashes of inspiration from what you think will happen. (I really should outline, oh well, it's going well so far w/o eh?) BTW, why do you think I used present tense in flashbacks (which are what the italics indicate in dialogue). Now tell me how much you want me to release the next chapter (which I need to start writing deflates). Toodles! I'll be back soon, in a week or so! Also, watch for the prequel. And Draco should return in the next chapter for Draco fans.


	7. Remembering Again

**AND SO LIFE GOES ON…**  
part of _"The Aevum Series"_  
by Nenya Entwhistle

Thanks to my betas: Lesamechelle and Ziasudra.

Chapter Seven  
Remembering Again

"I can't believe this!" He threw his arms up; glared at his friends; and slammed his fist into the wall because despite what they had done—he could not imagine hurting them. "How could you keep this from me? How could you?" He turned his watery eyes to them, murky and pained green eyes. _"I TRUSTED YOU!"_ he screamed. "How could you do this to me? WHY?"

Ron stood there, his face so pale that he looked like a ghost—like a Hogwarts ghost, which was real—magic was real, and they had kept it from him. Harry wanted to choke his best friend, strangle him for keeping this a secret. Did they think they were protecting him? After all that he had been through, did they not think he could handle reality? Did they think him crazy? Did they think he would sink into the darkness that freed him? Why could they not trust him? Why did they not believe in him?

"I'm sorry," Ron whispered, lowering his eyes to the ground. "We thought it would be best if you weren't reminded, especially since—for the longest time your magic was gone."

"That's because you've been drugging me!" Harry shouted, balling his fists up once again. "Those pills that Snape made, did you force him to? I know him, I know him very well and he wouldn't do this to me, he wouldn't!"

"Are you so sure?" Ron asked softly, patiently—unlike the impulsive and thoughtless Gryffindor Harry used to know. "And how well do you really think you know, Harry? He was a Death Eater, and he certainly didn't join because he wanted to do what was right. He definitely didn't stay with Voldemort just so he could spy for Dumbledore. He enjoyed the Dark Arts, the rapes, pillages, murders, and whatever depravities that Death Eaters partake in. And—"

"Ron," Hermione said with a warning note, "that's enough."

"And you," Harry snarled, shoving his face in front of hers, "I thought of you as a sister, and this is what you've done to me. You've taken away my life! You've taken away my magic! You've taken who I am away from me! How could you, Hermione? You…" he whispered harshly, "you who I trusted like a sister."

Hermione bit her bottom lip and the tears she had been holding back fell. "Harry…" She reached toward him, her arms opened and welcoming like they had been before. "I…"

"Don't touch me!" he snapped. "Don't you dare!"

"Can we explain?" Hermione asked, her eyes earnest and pleading. "Please Harry?"

"What can you possibly explain to me?" he asked viciously. "What can you possibly tell me that would make me forgive you? I know everything Hermione, I know all that you don't want me to remember. You," he said, glancing toward Ron and Ginny, "you and you might have thought it wise, thought it best to keep what I have done away from me, thinking I would be depressed to know what depths I corrupted myself to and ended up not using in order to defeat Voldemort. But whatever sins or depravities I have committed are nothing compared to what I would do."

Harry threw his head back and laughed a terrible laugh. "I thought my friends would have known better, would have trusted me to do what was right—believe in me as the Harry Potter you were friends with for more than ten years. But obviously I was wrong. You don't believe that I did all that I did for the good of all." He paused and closed his eyes, sinking down to his knees. "I admit that it was also for revenge, but as I started to live again I realized that even though my godfather was gone, Hagrid, and… Remus… I still had a life to live, which you took from me."

Harry drew in a ragged breath. "Go," he said. "Leave. I don't want anything to do with you anymore." The three of them stood there, looking at him with the defiant look he often used to see in himself. "GO!" he screamed. "LEAVE! I want nothing to do with you! Nothing! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Ron and Ginny took a step forward, but Hermione grabbed both of them and shook her head. "Leave us," she said. "Leave the two of us alone."

"But…" Ginny protested.

"Hermione, it's not—"

"Leave," she said. "Harry won't do anything to me but scream. Please."

Reluctant as they were, they did as she asked. When they were gone, she dropped to her knees next to him though she did not try to touch him. All she did was stare at him, look at him with an understanding and love in her brown eyes that made it so fucking hard for him to hate her. _Merlin,_ he thought with disgust, _all I want is for her to hold me when she has betrayed me all along. Damn her, damn me, damn Severus. Fuck Albus. _

"Will you listen to me?"

Harry's eyes met hers, and he wondered if his eyes were as dead as they used to be after Remus died, or if they were filled with the same pain and anger that were present when Sirius died. "What is there to explain?"

She blinked away a few more of her tears. "Everything."

-

_Foolish him,_ Harry thinks and shudders. Mindless, boneless and hard. "God," he moans as he takes one little breath before he is again kissed breathless. He can believe this, believe that Snape is his ex-lover, believe it because of the way he kisses. Snape kisses him like it is a homecoming, like there is nothing he doesn't know. "Oh god!"

"Yes," Snape hisses, his nails digging into Harry's hips, bruising him no doubt, "you're mine. Mine."

The first thought that comes to Harry's mind is that somehow he is not surprised that Snape is possessive. Not surprised that Snape is rough, passionate, and harsh. This is the way this man—no, _wizard_—is. Harry can accept this because he once knew him, and he knows this again? He has a hard time separating what he knows from memory, from observation, and from being told.

Not that he can think much when he is being given the kiss of his life. Not that he has many kisses to compare this to. Not that he remembers any of his past kisses. Not that he can even know if this is as good as the other ones Snape has given him. The dilemma and problem of being an amnesiac, he thinks bitterly. If only this could be taken away, but will Snape help him? Can he trust him? Everything points to the contrary. Snape is the doctor who drugged him; Snape can't want him to remember, and yet…

_"Why would I want to _obliviate _you?_" Snape inquires softly, darkly. _"I want you to remember, but you being the stupid idiot that you are, refuse to listen to my instructions." _

Snape pulls him closer, too close as Harry can feel Snape's erection pressing against his stomach. "You stupid, foolish, ignorant boy," Snape whispers, pulling away from the drowning kiss, "it's about time you clued in, remembered something, pulled something out of the abyss that I can work with."

"Why?" Harry asks, slightly afraid and repulsed. How could he like someone like this? Not that he can deny that he is aroused, but he would think it would be someone like Draco—someone slender and utterly beautiful, not someone like Snape, whose beauty has been hidden years ago. "Why would you help me when you caused me to forget?"

"Not on purpose!" Snape roars. "Never on purpose," he whispers with a dangerous note. "_Never._" Snape presses even closer to him, until there is too much touching, far too much. He must feel Harry's erection, and his smile is probably an indication of that. "You want me," Snape murmurs, "who would have thought a good Harry would want me? And yes, I suppose your question is a valid one. Why would I want to help this Harry," Snape murmurs, his hand caressing Harry's throat, "this Harry whom they love and I hate."

"Draco said you hated me," Harry blurts out and gasps. _Shit!_ he curses. Why did he say that? Is he absolutely as stupid as the Slytherin says he is? Slytherins? Harry's eyes widen, a memory, he remembers—he closes his eyes and shudders in Snape's arms—one small recollection. "You're a Slytherin."

"Draco," Snape snaps, "Draco Malfoy." His grip on Harry tightens until he is certain there will be bruises. "When did you ever come into contact with him?"

"You're a Slytherin," Harry repeats. "Head of House." Another random thought, random memory. "Potions professor."

"Yes," Snape confirms, his fingers digging further into Harry's flesh, painfully. "Yes, I am. You're remembering, but that still won't save you from my inquiry, Harry." Snape shoves his face further at him until his greasy nose is pressed against Harry's. "When did you see Draco Malfoy?"

-

"Harry, will you listen to me?" she asked tentatively. "Please?"

He stared at her, saw her tearstained face and felt a little bit of him cave in. Hermione, he remembered past and present, had always been the pillar he has leaned up. Before Severus and Remus, there was she. And after them, it had always been her. She had been a mother and a sister, and a best friend. What more could a person ask for in someone than what she had given?

"Harry?"

"I'll listen," he said sharply. "But I can't promise to forgive."

"It is enough just to listen," she murmured, her hands fumbling in her lap. "Thank you for this much. I know how hard this must be for you. I… I can't even imagine what you're going through, but please believe that we didn't set out to betray you. We thought we were doing the best thing for you."

"Why?" he asked. _"Why?"_

"Once you had fallen, sacrificing your life for Professor Snape's," she began, "we brought you back to Hogwarts because it was the safest place with rogue Death Eaters still around. A team from St. Mungo's came to see what they could do. At first, at the start, we thought you were lost to us, so deep and so lost in whatever place you were—a place between life and death—that we almost gave up. But Professor Snape refused, probably thinking he was obligated to you with a life debt because you saved him with your sacrifice. He created a potion called _Affero Aevum_, a life-giving potion that sustained you and brought you back."

_Almost romantic for him, _Harry thought.

"Even with that miraculous breakthrough," she continued, "it took nearly a year for the potion to start clearing the fog you were dwelling in and pull you out of the land of in-between. You were given a dosage every day, and there seemed to be no side affects—but there was one."

"What?" he demanded. "What was the side effect?"

"You have to realize that Professor Snape was desperate to save you, for whatever reason, and he didn't tell us that using this potion would do this to you. And regardless of whether he had told us, we still would have gone ahead and used it. It was a small thing," she said, "to give up to have you back with us once again."

"What was it?"

She took a deep breath. "It used your magic," she whispered. "The potion used your magic to sustain your life and bring you back. And when it pulled you back, there was a horrible backlash that almost severed your magic from you. It was with the greatest care that St. Mungo's healers were able to reconnect your magical sphere with your physical self, but even then they couldn't guarantee that you would be able to use your magic again. After all, it was nearly cut off forever and—"

"That still doesn't explain why you didn't tell me the truth," he stated. "Or how you even knew that my magic and memories would be gone so that you could go along with this ruse."

"Can't you see how?" she cried. "The potion didn't bring you back immediately. We knew about two months before you woke up that you would wake up. During that time, your brain activity had picked up but your magical aura was nearly nonexistent." She looked toward him with regret in her eyes. "You must know we didn't want you to know everything that you had had but could never have again! We didn't want you to regret and hate the life we had tried so hard to give you back. There have been many, like you, that have lost their magic and gone insane with grief." She bit her lip. "We didn't want you to be one of them. We wanted you to be happy."

"But how did you know my memories would be gone?" he asked. "Did Albus have me _obliviated?"_

She shook her head. "We learned from early diagnostic scans that your neocortex had been heavily damaged when you fell, and brain injuries are notoriously difficult for even the best of mediwizards to heal—so they decided not to tamper with it. They let it heal normally and were quick to caution us that you would probably not remember anything for a while."

"And so I didn't and then somewhere along the way, I started regaining my magic much to everyone's surprise," Harry murmured dangerously, his green eyes blazing with a life he hasn't remembered feeling for the longest time. "But everyone was afraid of what I would do when I realized you had kept this from me, and somehow I don't believe this story—don't believe this is for my own good.

"I don't believe you," he stated flatly, his voice beginning to rise. "I have no idea what you did to Snape to get him to make a potion that would strip my magic for a time, but you and everyone I thought I could trust wanted me powerless. _WHY?_" he screamed. "Are you afraid I'll turn into the next Dark Lord?"

"No!" she exclaimed, reaching out for him. "No, never, Harry!"

He jerked his arm away and sent her falling on her side. "Don't touch me," he warned. "Don't ever touch me again. I don't want anything to do with you or anybody else here. Do you understand me?"

"Harry—"

"I don't ever want to see any of you again."

-

"I mean, I ran into Dr—why should I answer that?" Harry blurts out, feeling his cheeks redden despite the blood that has surged to his groin. Snape might not be an attractive man, but god did the man know how to kiss. And the way Snape holds him and presses against him drives him mad. Who would have thought he liked someone dominating and possessive. "I mean—"

"I know what you mean," Snape retorts, one of his hands releasing Harry's hips to reach up to touch Harry's face. "I always know what you mean, even when you don't realize it yourself." Snape's finger traces Harry's bruised lips. "It is so like you to ask an impertinent question like that, so like the Harry that I once hated."

"Why did you stop?" Harry asks. His green eyes plead with Snape to tell him something, anything that might give him hope that there is someone he can trust in and depend on who has been there all this time. For some reason, he has this feeling that he can trust Snape—because he is his ex-lover or… something else? It's just this feeling, this confidence. "Stop hating me? _Why?_"

Snape's hand drifts down to grip his chin firmly. "Because you turned into someone that I could no longer hate."

"What? What changed?" Harry leans into Snape instinctively, feeling the older man's penis poking into his stomach. He doesn't care—even likes it. "How did I change?"

"You became darker, quieter, and more prone to solitude," Snape murmurs, his lips so close to Harry's that but for an inch they would be kissing again. "But when you were not alone, you were with me—learning all that I could teach you, all which helped to change you, to morph you into a different Harry than they wanted. They said I corrupted you, tainted you with the Dark Arts, but I didn't do anything you didn't ask for." Snape's nose touches his own. "You asked, Harry, and I gave. And I like to think you always had the darkness in you, but you just needed coaxing for it to come out—eager as you were to please your friends and be somebody you weren't. But with me, you became what you were truly supposed to be."

"I…" Harry begins, his lips and body trembling, "I don't know who to trust."

Snape tilts Harry's face up. "You say, even when you hated me in your sixth year, that you trusted me. And when we became lovers, there wasn't anything that you kept from me." Snape briefly presses his lips against Harry's, softly and then withdraws. "You trusted me then, and you can again—if you wish to."

"I think… I think I can trust you."

"Good," Snape murmurs and his hold on Harry's chin tightens—bruising hard, "now tell me, when did you see Draco Malfoy?"

-

"What are you doing here?"

"Harry," Albus said, reaching out with his wrinkled, old hands but Harry jerked away before he touched him, "I'm sorry for what I did."

"If you're really sorry, then you leave me alone!" Harry screamed. "I don't want anything to do with you and your manipulative ways again!"

"Harry…"

"Don't call me Harry!" he snapped. "I was your weapon in the war, but I won't ever be again. I've done what you've asked, now leave me in peace. Do you understand me? Or must I spell it out for you the muggle way? I don't care for your apologies or whatever you care to say to ease your conscience. I'm through with being your puppet."

"I never asked you to do what you did," Albus remarked. "Did I ever tell you that you had to defeat Voldemort?"

Harry threw his head back and laughed bitterly. "You didn't have to tell me because your own subtle persuasions told me exactly what you wanted from me. You got me to do everything like a hero should do, but I'm not quite in your control anymore and you're afraid of me—aren't you, Albus?"

"No," Albus denied, his eyes and face looking tired and sad, "no, I've never been afraid of you, Harry. All I've ever wanted for you is to be happy and to live a normal life. That is what you've always wanted, isn't it?"

While Harry wanted to earnestly deny this fact, he had to admit parts of him did want a normal life. He just hated how all-knowing Albus was, how he seemed to know the right thing to say in every occasion. Did others find it as infuriating as he did? Harry knew that Severus did.

"It was wrong of you to assume that," Harry whispered fiercely. "You should have asked me first, should have. I still can't believe you did this to me and I can't believe that Severus helped you."

It tore into Harry's very being that the man he had trusted with his life—that he had sacrificed his life for—had been instrumental in eradicating his former life, the life he had shared with that exasperating bastard. It was the reason Harry refused, absolutely refused to speak to Snape even though he had started calling him—as if to pretend he didn't know the truth. He rebuffed his friends the same way, and he was thinking about putting the _Fidelius Charm_ on his flat just to avoid everyone. He could not forgive and he could not forget. _Merlin, why had they done this? _

"He felt it was in your best interest," Albus murmured, sitting down on a chair like an arthritic man. "As Hermione has probably already told you, many wizards lose their minds when they discover they are turned into squibs. There was hardly any doubt in anyone's mind that the same would happen to you, you being as powerful as you are."

"Then what justification remained after my magic came back?" Harry snapped. "Especially when you dosed me with a potion to block my magic and kept my memories at bay!"

"Can you say, Harry," Albus said earnestly, "that you're unhappy?"

Harry's face did not soften nor did it harden. "I would say my life is unfulfilled, incomplete, and I feel more betrayed than I ever have."

"By us," Albus added in a soft voice. "I'm sorry Harry."

"Apologies do no good when you don't think you're wrong," Harry said sharply. "And you don't, do you? You don't think you're wrong, and you've come here because you think I'll forgive and forget. You're hoping you can manipulate me the way you often have, get me to do things—like defeat Voldemort because I thought it my _fucking_ duty to do that! Well, I'll tell you this, Albus, I AM NOT YOUR PUPPET any longer. And I don't bloody care what you, my friends, or even Snape thinks. I…"

"I'm sorry Harry, but this is for the best," Albus repeated and held up his wand. Before Harry could even register what Albus was doing, he uttered, "_Abdo Animus._" He stared at the blank faced young man. "You were so happy before you remembered, so happy… and you must not remember that you ever remembered."

-

"I ran into him," Harry says, trying to back away and having little success. "One day, more than a week ago."

"And?"

"He told me the truth a few days after we met," he mumbles, his eyes shifting to look anywhere but at the fathomless depths of Snape's. "Unlike you and the rest of my friends, he told me what I needed to know!"

Snape jerks his chin until Harry is forced to look into the dark eyes. "Did you believe everything he said Harry?" Harry tries to nod but it is impossible to move his head without hurting himself. "Because if you did," Snape murmurs darkly, dangerously, "that would be highly foolish of you. Don't you know that you and Draco used to hate each other? That you two used to be rivals? That his father on numerous occasions has tried to kill you?"

Harry knows everything except the last bit. But that makes sense, considering that he had remembered that Draco's father had spied on him. He supposes their mutual dislike was the reason for the spying. He ought to feel more alarm, more panicked, but all Harry feels is ambivalence. It's hard to be angry at Draco when the blond is the only one willing to tell him the truth. It's far easier to be mad at everyone else, Albus—his Headmaster, his friends, and his lover—Snape. 

"Who cares?" Harry retorts, not caring that his eyes are flashing defiantly and disrespectfully. "At least he is willing to tell me the secrets everyone else is keeping from me!" Harry jabs a finger into Snape's surprisingly muscular chest. "And you—you being who you are to me—you should have been the first one to tell me the truth! But no, instead it's Draco that has to! Why didn't you?" he cries out, and to his horror—he finds his eyes are tearing up. "Why did you do that? How could you? _How!_"

For a moment, Snape says nothing and they stare at each other, green eyes looking into dark brown, nearly black ones. They seem to be locked together as if there is nothing in the world to do but look at one another. Finally, Snape releases his hold on Harry and takes a few steps back. The expression on his face is indiscernible. Has this man—his lover—always been this hard to read?

"Harry," Snape begins with a ragged sigh, "I have already said what I did to cause your memory loss wasn't done on purpose, which I suppose is misleading. I did what I did because I was bound to by a wizard's oath." He pauses and starts to pace. "I think it would be better for me to say that it was not _my purpose_ for you to be an amnesiac. But under my oath to protect you and uphold your happiness, I was foolish not to look at the fine print. What protects you and makes you happy is according to what Albus Dumbledore and your friends," he sneers, "think rather than what you would want.

"However, if you could start to remember, to know, and to realize—then I would have something to work with. But I cannot betray what I swore under the oath unless you mention it yourself. Think about," Snape continues, stopping in front of Harry, "what you said and what my reply was, nothing was out of the ordinary. It was you that first indicated that you knew what magic was. It was you that mentioned a magic spell, _obliviate_. You are the one that has to remember, or in this case be told by someone not under the oath. Albus, the old meddling fool, thought it best for you to gradually come into your memories. And yet when you did the first time—"

Harry jerks suddenly and nearly trips over his own feet but for Snape reaching out to steady him. "The first time?" he cries. "What first time?"

"Why the first time you remembered of course," Snape retorts bitterly. Harry recognizes that the negative emotion isn't directed at him but rather someone else—some old man. "The time which Albus and your friends _failed_ to inform me of," Snape snarls, his face screws up into one of utter distaste before it drops back into scornful indifference, "until after the _Abdo Animus_ spell, after your memories had been hidden so deeply and carefully that you probably will never uncover them without much help."

"And you will help me?" Harry asks, his eyes turning to Snape with hope and trust. There is such an honesty in Snape's resentment that Harry can believe this, but how much faith should he have in him? After all, this man—his lover had not tried nearly hard enough to get his memories back. But then, who could he trust? Draco? Maybe, and maybe not. "You will, won't you?"

"I will," Snape vows. "I swear."

"Will you answer a question first?"

Snape nods. "Yes."

"Why did you not try harder?"

-

"What?" Harry mumbled in confusion. "Where am I?" He glanced up at Albus with dazed green eyes, then saw in the background his friends… Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and even Neville. "What happened?"

"You passed out," Albus said simply, though his voice sounded weary and strained. "But you seem to be okay. Do you want me to call Dr. Snape in to see you? He's away on an emergency call or something, but your friends," he remarked, gesturing to those behind him, "asked that I come since I'm familiar with your case, even though I'm only an assistant."

"Oh." Harry grimaced and rubbed his temples. "My head hurts," he croaked. "It really hurts."

"Blackouts are like that," the old man stated soothingly. His face was anything but calm, seemingly conflicted with stress wrinkles. "I think your friends said you were starting to remember something though, and that's probably why your head hurts as much as it does."

"I was?" Harry glanced toward his friends, noting their concern and worry, and thinking it was a bit strange—why weren't they as happy as he was? "That's good, isn't it?"

"Of course, it is," Hermione said, smiling at him. "It's wonderful news."

Albus nodded and asked tightly, "Do you remember anything now?"

Harry tried to reach into his brain and pull out a memory, but all he could recall was stuff he already knew to be true—nothing new. "No," he whispered with disappointment. "No, I don't."

Albus patted his hand gently, his lips twisting into a forced smile. "I'm sure you'll eventually remember everything. It takes time, Mr. Potter. It takes much time, indeed."

-

"Why, Snape?" Harry demands. "Why did you not try harder to make me remember?"

Snape looks taken back, an odd expression for him, Harry thinks. It seems like it takes the older man a long moment before he can gather his thoughts to even make a response. Harry waits patiently, feeling like that is the one thing he can give—patience—and nothing else.

"Because," Snape begins harshly, "you're not the same. You're not him."

Harry feels jolted. His friends, everyone he knows and cares about, says that he is basically the same, and yet the one person that should know him best says he is not. "How then?" he asks. "How am I different?"

"Make no mistake," Snape retorts, "you are the same Harry Potter whom they love, but you are not the Harry whom I love. But as I've already said, only a few moments before, you must realize that even should you remember—there was no guarantee you would be the Harry I fell for. Do you understand? The circumstances that created the person I could love will never happen again, remembering memories are not the same as living through experiences. If that was the case then Albus would be tainted by—" Snape abruptly shuts his mouth and his left eyes twitches. "You are," he begins again after clearing his throat, "unlikely to be the same, and despite my protestations you did seem happy in the muggle life you were in."

"But don't you think I would have liked to know the truth?" Harry whispers. "Don't think I deserved to know it?"

"You were unhappy before, Potter," Snape states, his eyes hooded and his face guarded all of a sudden. Harry feels him retreating and doesn't understand why, especially not when everything is finally out in the open. What is going on? "Very depressed and probably on the verge of being suicidal," Snape remarks tonelessly, "and now… now you are happy, well adjusted, and living a life you have always wanted—without the dreaded fame and madman trying to kill you. This is what you wanted, and they gave it to you."

"Don't call me Potter," Harry snaps and grabs Snape's shirt, pulling him closer. He tries, tries hard to reach Snape—reach the man that was reaching out to him. "Was I unhappy with you?"

"You were dysfunctional with me."

Harry pulls him even closer and hisses in his ear, "Answer the question, Snape."

"_Love is not a happy thing_," Snape quotes. "It's what you use to say."

"Did I love you?" Harry asks, his eyes fierce and fiery.

Snape purses his lips. "You said you did… once."

"Did you love me?"

His left eye twitches again. "Have I not already said so?"

"Do you still love me?"

His body tenses immediately. "You're different."

"And?"

"And despite that," he snarls, "I still want you."

"But you don't love me," Harry finishes, releasing his hold on Snape. "Not anymore."

"I don't know you anymore."

Harry inclines his head in agreement, thinking why is he even saying these things—he doesn't even like Snape much, though he might trust the man. Why did he ask all these questions? What had he hoped to gain from the answers? A justification, a reason for the betrayal? If Snape had really loved him, still loves him, would he have just given up on Harry as he seemed to? And was he—Harry—really that different?

"I don't even know who I am anymore."

**TBC**

A/N: huge sigh of relief For those that have thought the turning point has occurred, I think this chapter makes it pretty clear **this** is it. I think there's so much to analyze in this that you could probably write a page and not get there. But here are some thoughts to help you along: (1) Think about the questions that you had that were answered (2) Think about the new questions that arise from this chapter (3) Think about Snape's character and what comes out of his mouth as to why he did what he did(4) Consider Harry's reaction to the first time he remembered and was then his memories blocked by _Abdo Animus_, which means to hide memories (5) Consider the relationship btw Snape/Harry, from what Snape has said, what do you think it'll be like? (6) Factor in Harry's friends, especially Hermione... what do you think they felt about the spell Albus used? (7) Factor in Albus' reaction, especially after he used the spell, and consider his age and experience--as to what do you think of him? (8) Analyze how Draco is going to fit into this, as he is the only one that Harry knows from his past that wasn't hiding the truth to him and yet he knows that Draco was a former enemy--where does that placed Draco? (9) Lastly, try to analyze Harry's reaction past and present... does it remind you of anything and perhaps consider how you might react in his shoes.


	8. A Door Opens

**AND SO LIFE GOES ON…**  
Part of "_The Aevum Series"  
_by Nenya Entwhistle

Beta'd by Lesameschelle and Ziasudra

Chapter Eight  
A Door Opens

The first thing Harry does after falling on his arse is groan like a respectable man in pain would. Of course that does little to deter the bouncing, enthusiastic boy on his lap giving him a hug that squeezes him more than he would like. But he would never push the child away even if he feels like this is the right thing to do—this is what he would want if he were Teddy.

"I take it you missed me?" Harry remarks with a cheerful smile.

Teddy frowns, looking older than he should. "You didn't come back yesterday!"

"Ah yes," Harry murmurs, "I was detained for a while." He had not even realized how much time he had spent at Severus' office until Severus literally pushed him out the door and told him to go home and get some rest. By then it was so late that the streets were pretty much deserted. "I'm sorry, was Becky upset?"

Teddy shrugs, his arms still linked around Harry's neck. "She was surprised when you didn't come back." The boy grins impishly. "I don't think she expected you to listen to her." He leans in and whispers conspiratorially into Harry's ear, "After an hour or so when you should have been back, she thought maybe you had gotten sidetracked by someone."

Harry rears his head back and blinks a few times. "What?"

"So," Teddy murmurs, getting a sly look in his eyes that Harry definitely doesn't recognize as his own, "who was it?"

Harry fights the blush because it is true—he _was_ sidetracked by someone—and in the way the boy insinuates. _Goddammit_, why does Teddy have to be so mature and with it at his age? Harry bets anything, bets his trust fund that he was nothing like Teddy is at this age, and yet why does he feel such an affinity with him? Harry knows it's the feeling he wants to ask about, it's just the why behind it that troubles him.

_Severus_, he repeats, feeling warm and yet not. So much the man, his lover, has told him about the life they had led together after he had graduated from Hogwarts. Told him about why he fell into the darkness, explained how he became depressed and wanted nothing to do with living, and what really mattered was the fact he overcame that. He climbed out of his depression through the Dark Arts and managed through luck, protection spells, and sacrifice to defeat a powerful Dark Lord. What a life he had had.

"Harry?" Teddy calls, patting his face with both hands. "Earth to Harry!"

"Hmmm?"

"Play with me?" Teddy asks, pointing over to the miscellaneous games on the floor. "How about chess?"

"All right," Harry agrees, thinking life had been much simpler when he hadn't known about his former life. "Chess sounds—" Ron also likes chess, he remembers and pauses. They had played at Hogwarts, and Ron was very good. He frowns at the memory and then shakes his head when Teddy squeezes his hand.

"Chess is okay, right?"

Harry smiles and nods, knowing that Teddy picked it because he's good at it. "It's fine."

"Awesome!" Teddy exclaims and jumps off his lap to go and set up the board. "Do you want to be black or white?"

"Err… black is fine," he answers.

Teddy grins and waves the white Queen in the air. "I get to go first then!"

Why had he ever thought that Teddy reminds him of him?

-

"Sometimes," Harry said and snapped his fingers, "I think I'm so close to remembering. I can almost feel it, almost grab it but it slips from my fingers as if it doesn't want me to latch onto it yet."

More than a year, Hermione smiled down at him and ran her fingers through his dark hairs. "I'm sure you'll remember one day. Didn't your doctors, Pomfrey and Snape, say it'll take time?"

"It's been more than enough time," he grumbled and pouted. "You'd think I'd get some of my memories back by now!"

She sighed and twirled his hair around. "Have you finished the book I gave you?"

"You gave it to me last week," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "You really don't expect me to have finished that thick book, do you?"

She laughed. "I guess I can't." She pinched his nose playfully. "But promise me you will read it, all right?"

He grimaced. "One day, I will."

-

It is Wednesday and like the previous day, he spends it with Severus talking. Well, mostly he does the listening and Snape does the speaking. But it doesn't bother him, not when he's finally learning details about his life that Draco would never know. He blushes lightly when he thinks about some of the sexual questions he'd asked and had been answered. Who would have thought he was that bold in bed?

Severus coughs and Harry jerks his face toward him. "What?"

"You weren't paying attention," Severus snaps, much like he usually does as his doctor. But this snapping tone has a familiarity to it, and dare he think—an affection? From what has been told of their relationship, Harry has to conclude, it was as dysfunctional as Severus claims—but it wasn't without some real feeling to it, even if it was not the wholesome variety. "Daydreaming of Draco maybe?"

Harry is starting to believe that Draco had lied about the fact that Severus liked him. Everything his former lover has said has been negative. A part of him wants to attribute it to jealousy, but that seems a little weird considering Draco and him used to be rivals—enemies. But he wants to trust in Draco, even more than Severus, because Draco offered the key and gave it.

"Why would I?" Harry inquires, staring resolutely into the dark eyes. "And why do you sound like you hate him?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Severus counters, his eyes piercing Harry's.

He feels paralyzed, trapped, and confused. "I thought you liked him."

"Is that a memory?" Severus demands, his voice low and lethal. "Or is that what Draco Malfoy told you?"

"Draco," Harry answers. "That's what Draco says." He hesitates and nibbles at his lip, noticing how Severus' gaze diverts to the simple motion. "But weren't you his Head of House, shouldn't you like him?"

Severus rolls his eyes slowly, exaggeratedly. "Just because he was in my House does not mean that I have to like that arrogant, spoiled little horror."

"But…"

"I know what he said," Severus retorts, "but considering that you now know I used to be a spy, don't you think I could disguise my real feelings from him?"

Harry nods reluctantly. "I guess."

"But you want to know more," Severus states simply.

"I do."

He lets out a growl of frustration. "You and your incessant questions," Severus mutters. "You've heard me mention that Draco's father, Lucius, was a Death Eater. Lucius not only wanted you dead, but I was also his instrument for practicing the Dark Arts. Unlike—"

"Wasn't I—"

"You were mine," Severus snaps, his eyes flashing fiercely. "But I was never as cruel or as vindictive as Lucius Malfoy was. I did it to _help you_ get what you wanted. Lucius did it because it helped him and fed his sadism. I didn't do it out of that sick love of torture, but because…"

"You wanted me," Harry finishes softly. "Didn't you?"

"Yes," Severus hisses.

Harry rubs his tired eyes. "You've told me about our relationship and the events that led up to it, and you've even mentioned my years as your student. You've given me more information than Draco did. But neither of you ever mention my childhood." He pauses and blinks once. "What of my parents? What of my childhood? What was my life like before Hogwarts?"

Severus presses his lips into a thin, unforgiving line. "You would not like what you would hear."

"But I'm asking."

"In this…"

"Answer," Harry demands. "Answer my question."

Severus swallows with difficulty. "You are right, it is a lie. You never knew your parents, they died protecting you from Voldemort—dying the same day when you freed the Wizarding World from his first reign of terror. You were a savior for everyone but your own parents, though I suppose they are proud of you—wherever they are."

"And?"

"And you went to live with your mother's sister, Petunia and her husband, Vernon, and their son, Dudley Dursley…"

-

"You like Hermione, don't you?"

Ron blushed sheepishly and nodded, ducking his head beneath a pillow.

Harry chuckled and chunked his pillow at his best friend. "If you like her, you ought to ask her out!"

"I… I—uh, I don't know what to do!" Ron exclaimed.

Harry threw back his head and nearly shouted with laughter. He was shaking so hard that it took a good few minutes before he was able to control himself and actually say something to the beet-faced Ron. "I think saying you're crazy about her would work. Or," Harry remarked with a sly look, "you could say you love her truly, madly, deeply and can't live without her!"

"Harry Potter!" Ron screeched, throwing both pillows at him. "I will not!"

Harry caught them both with his excellent reflexes and tucked one underneath his head. "Why not? It'd work," he responded casually. "And it's better than doing nothing, which is what you're doing. If you're going to wait for her to come to you, then you're going to wait for a very long time." Harry uncrossed and then re-crossed his ankles. "She's a bit oblivious about matters of the heart, though she's got a tremendous grasp on book-learning."

Ron sighed raggedly and his body slumped forward. "Don't I know it."

Harry chuckled and threw Ron's pillows back at him. "She'll find out eventually, but if you told her—it'd be a lot better… for both of you. It'll only get worse if you keep stalling. She's not going to figure it out by herself and when someone else tells her—like your Ginny—she's going to be pretty upset that you weren't the one to tell her first. I mean, I think everyone knows, especially if I know!"

"Ugh," Ron muttered, burying his face in his hands, "why does life have to be so bloody complicated?"

-

"_Oh god_," Harry says, burying his face in his hands. "I don't believe this. I can't believe this. All this—" His shoulders slump forward and he takes a trembling step forward. "My entire childhood has been a lie."

"Harry…" Severus reaches out to him, but when Harry feels his hand touch him—he jerks his body away. "They did what they thought was best," he says, though Harry could tell there is disapproval in Severus' voice, "even if what they did was unwise."

How is it that Harry can still read this enigmatic man's tone even when his memories elude him? The funny thing is, he knows he isn't guessing, he just knows. It is like how he knew how to walk, though he still doesn't understand why he could know that and not remember his memories. And isn't this some innate memory then? Or is this all instinctive? But how?

"You've told me who I became, my life as student, and even of my childhood," Harry murmurs, lifting his face up and staring at Severus, "but you have yet to tell me why they decided to keep this from me."

Severus takes in a sharp breath and then lets it out raggedly. "You lost your magic at first and becoming a squib—"

"A squib?"

"Someone non-magical born to a magical personage," he explains. "As I was saying, _becoming a squib_ when you were born with magic has a high probability of making a person go crazy. The more powerful the wizard or witch, the more likely and the worse it gets. They were trying to save you from that insanity."

There was a justifiable reason for what they did, Harry thinks with a rush of relief and yet as his mind playback what Severus had said he picks up a funny phrase. The type of phrase that makes everything infinitely more complicated. But then a simple answer would not sate his grim curiosity nor would it be enough in a situation like this. The only true answer would have to be complex, difficult, and life-shattering.

"You said at first…"

"You eventually got your magic back, and I believe when the connection that was broken mended itself, it pulled your memories back too." Severus pinches the bridge of his nose. "You have always been amazingly resilient and lucky, so I suspect that your innate magic doesn't like it when you're not completely yourself. Whatever it was, your memories returned nearly at the same time as your magic. That is—"

"That's why they cast that spell on me," Harry mutters, his eyes growing darker and filling with some anger. "You said that this isn't the first time that I've remembered, that you didn't know about it until it was too late. It's because my memories came back with my magic, and they were afraid of how I would react, so like the _fucking cowards_ they are—they restarted me so everything would go as they wanted it to. _They never even considered what I might have wanted. _"

"No," Severus agrees, reaching out with his hand to pull Harry to him into a tight embrace, "they didn't."

"I want to hate them," Harry whispers fiercely. "I need to hate them."

Severus' hand trails down his back, stroking him softly and comfortingly—unlike the man he used to know, and yet sending tingles of feelings of what his love life had been in the past. "I have hated them," Severus declares in a chilling voice. "I have hated them for a very long time." He presses his lips against the top of Harry's head. "You should hate them for what they have done to you. Because how can you forgive them?" A cold finger traces his cheek. "You were angry last time, I heard, filled with wrath. Don't tell me," he whispers, "you want to forgive them."

Harry shakes his head, pulling away. "But I can't."

"You can," Severus says fiercely. "If you believe you can."

"No, no, no!" Harry crouches down, rocking back and forth. "_No…_"

"Why not?" Severus goads. "After all they have done to you?"

"_What about you?_" Harry cries suddenly. "You have been drugging me! Shouldn't I hate you too? After what you've done! What do you have to say? And is it permanent?" He digs his fingers into his hair and pulls at the ends in frustration, anger, and helplessness. This, at least, he can control unlike his life. "The pills! What _do_ they do?"

Any semblance of color on Severus' face drains away. "They reinforce the _Abdo Animus_ spell and restrict your magic."

Harry lets out a ragged breath and hugs his legs tighter. "What am I suppose to do?" He rests his forehead against his knees. "Who am I?"

He doesn't know when Severus knelt down next to him until his hand strokes his back. "You _are_ Harry."

-

Neville had asked him out. Harry slumped against the door and sunk to the floor. Neville Longbottom had asked to go to dinner with him whenever he was free next week. He had never even considered the nice young man in that way, as anything more than a friend, even if he was gay and thought that Neville leant in the same way. Now to even consider it made him feel weird. It felt almost wrong, but why?

Harry shook his head and sighed, staring at nothing really and yet everything at once. There was nothing wrong with Neville, he was a pleasant young man but certainly not someone he envisioned himself with. Of course, there was the problem of rejection. He knew rejection would hurt Neville, and he hated hurting anyone. Maybe he could say he needed more time, that he still wasn't ready to date anyone. It was hardly more than a year since his accident, and he was still getting settled into his new life—into his new routine at the children's shelter. And he simply couldn't possibly… go out with him.

"I'm sorry, Neville," he practiced. "I'm still not ready." He fidgeted with his hands. "I'm still adjusting. I'm honored you asked though, but I can't go with you for dinner."

Harry buried his face in his hands. _Goddammi_t, he cursed, _why am I saying no to someone perfectly nice like Neville?_ Because of his stupid, past lover whose identity was shrouded in mystery and Harry just knew whoever he was—was nothing like Neville Longbottom. Harry snorted and knocked his head against the wall. Somehow he just had the feeling that his lover was the antithesis of everything Neville represented, and yet why was he attracted to such a man?

He sighed. He guessed love was an irrational thing. _Crazy love_.

-

Today it is not his alarm clock that wakes him, but loud knocking on the door. Harry rubs his tired eyes and blinks warily at the darkness pervading his room. _Whoever the bloody hell it i_s, he thinks, _better have a damn good reason for making such an ungodly noise this early in the morning_. He stumbles out of bed and shakes his groggy head to try and wake himself up a bit more. The only thing he really registers until he gets to the door and opens it is that no one ever visits him this early.

Well, he now knows one person that does… "Draco," he says. "What are you doing here?"

Draco smirks and breezes by him. "Good morning, Harry. Not a morning person are you?" he inquires, giving him a thorough lookdown from head to toe.

Harry realizes that his hair must be messier than usual and his eyes are probably tiny slits, not that he really cares. He bets it's only 6:00 at the latest, and who wakes up at that time? He stifles a groan and tries to smile, but he fails. "You didn't answer my question," he grumbles. "What are you doing here?"

"Can't friends visit each other?" Draco inquires, lifting an elegant eyebrow.

How the man looks so bloody good at a time like this, Harry has not the faintest clue. But that's beside the point, considering Draco still has not answered his question. Really, Harry could learn the technique for evading questions from him. "I thought you said we were enemies during our school years and that we hated each other."

"Oh we were, I don't deny that," Draco murmurs, stepping closer to Harry—much too close. They are but inches apart and Harry can feel Draco's warm breath when he talks. "We definitely were enemies, but I like to think that happened more because of Weasley and different House affiliations than anything else."

Harry backs up and trips over something on the floor. Draco grabs both his arms and yanks him close, their bodies pressing against each other. "Watch out," Draco whispers into his ear, "you don't want to fall, do you?"

Gulping nervously, Harry steadies himself and then moves away from Draco. He goes over and plops himself down on the couch, mentally cringing when Draco takes a seat right next to him. He stares down at his hands because he doesn't want to look at Draco looking at him. And he still hasn't made up his mind if he is going to tell him about Severus. He does trust Draco, but then—he trusted his real friends and look where that led him.

"And we are friends, aren't we?" Draco asks, leaning toward him and reaching over with his hand to tilt Harry's face up. "Because when you have friends like yours, shouldn't your enemies become your best allies?"

Harry raises his eyes a fraction to meet Draco's. "Friends that hurt each other?"

Draco's finger touches his lips and he smiles unpleasantly. "I think I'd say helping and hurting. And there's a reason you know, a reason for all this."

He is afraid to ask, to know, to find out what reason Draco has. Whatever it is, it cannot be good, and he is tired—weary of hearing things he cannot handle but must.

"Don't you want to know?" Draco inquires, his fingers tracing down Harry's throat. "It's nothing really bad, I suppose. But to me, I think it's justification enough."

Harry's throat constricts, and he swallows harshly. "You're going to tell me anyway, aren't you?"

"Of course," Draco remarks, his hand leaving Harry's face. "You have a right to know why I would even want to hurt you. At first, it's because just knowing you would never feel the same about your friends again was enough. And knowing you, that would hurt you—pain you to know you couldn't trust those you loved. But then, I got intrigued—thinking about you as you are—not knowing anything and not having any of the prejudices that the Wizarding World currently has for me. And finally while I was away, I realized I could not stop thinking of you."

Draco pauses and looks away, his gaze focusing on something—the wall. "It's something strange to realize you're obsessed and have been obsessed for many years," he murmurs, tucking some stray hair behind his ear. "It began when I was child, hearing so many stories of you and your impossible act, and it really started when you rejected me for Weasley." Draco stops and his nostrils flare. "I mean, how could you? How could you choose that redhead over me? And yet, it only made me more interested in you and you were a challenge to me—besting me in everything except grades. But what do grades matter? Your friend Granger, the smartest witch Hogwarts has produced in a century is toiling behind a desk in the Ministry waiting to be promoted, which is unlikely to happen anytime soon.

"And you had to be better and braver than me in everything," Draco declares, punctuating his words with a snap of his fingers. "Do you know how fucking irritating that is?" Draco jerks his head toward Harry and shoves his face forward, a lot like Severus had done earlier. "Especially when my father married my mother to produce the best heir possible? Mingling the Malfoy blood with that of the Black family, ancient pureblood with ancient pureblood, and yet you—a half-blood proved superior, able to defeat the strongest wizard born since Grindelwald."

Draco clenches his fingers until his knuckles turn white. "What is even worse than you being better than me is that now I realize how bloody obsessed I am with you. How I collected articles about you, how I wasn't happy unless you were around for me to torment, how unsatisfying my life has been since you've disappeared as if you no longer existed! And here you are now, here you are, and you don't remember anything about me—and I can't help thinking what a fool I am for not compounding on that, for not using that!

"I should never have told you about your past," he whispers. "I should have left you in the dark."

-

"Shouldn't you be at work?" he remarked after they had both taken their customary spots in his living room. "I mean, it's the middle of the day and all."

"Shouldn't you be at the shelter?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow at him.

He rolled his eyes. "I have a feeling you won't answer my question until I answer yours, so here goes… I'm home because it's a government holiday and the kids don't come on those days. It's like our 'off-days' during the week."

"Ah, I see," she murmured. "I'm not at work because I finished the busy work they gave me and I thought I might as well drop by and see if you were home."

"Oh, is that so?" Harry stretched and placed his arms behind his neck. "Hey Hermione, can I ask you a question?"

"I can't guarantee to answer," she remarked, "but go ahead."

"I've been wondering… why is it that I've never been to your flat?" he asked from his spot on the couch where his legs spread to the very end. "I mean, I've been to Ron's and you guys regularly come to my place, but I haven't been to yours, Ginny's, or even Neville's."

Hermione frowned a bit and straightened up from lounging on one of his soft, comfy chairs. "Well, uh…, my place's a bit of a mess," she admitted, blushing. "I mean, there are books everywhere—but they're in neat stacks! And well, my cat's very antisocial, really doesn't like anyone much."

His shoulders slumped forward in disappointment. "I see."

She chewed on her lower lip and tucked her feet underneath her bottom. "Do you really want to go?"

He shrugged. "It's okay." It took a moment before he smiled brightly. "You know, you having a lot of books around is so like you."

She laughed. "It is, isn't it?"

-

"What are you saying?"

"WHAT AM I SAYING!" Draco explodes, his hands reaching out and grabbing Harry by his shirt. He drags Harry to him until their bodies touch intimately and that is when Harry notices something odd poking into his belly. He glances down, and his eyes snap up abruptly. "Don't you know?" Draco murmurs darkly, his arm snaking around Harry's waist and using it as leverage to press his erection even more against him. "Can't you feel it? Or are you as dumb and witless as you were before?"

Harry struggles, pushes against Draco's chest, and tries to do anything to get the blond off of him but of course it does little good except to cause Draco to moan as Harry rubs against his erection. Harry closes his eyes and feels the moan go straight to his groin. _Dammit_, he thinks, this is not what he needs if he intends to get the fucking blond off of him! And why is he becoming aroused anyway? His lover is, was Severus—Severus!—not Draco!

"Why?" he rasps, leaning his head as far back as he can and panting. "You hate me. You want to hurt me. I know about—I remember some things about the past—you _really_ hated me, and your father wanted me dead."

Draco lifts an eyebrow and there is a gleam in his silver eyes that Harry doesn't like. He has a feeling that he has made a mistake, that he shouldn't have trusted Draco, that he is handling a dragon as a ranked amateur instead of a pro. "So your memories are coming back to you, are they?" Draco whispers, his hands gripping Harry's arse. "That's rather sudden, isn't it?"

"You were the catalyst," Harry says softly, breathing harder and feeling very uncomfortable. Considering the position he is in and the fact that Draco is a beautiful young man—his reaction is only normal, he tells himself. "You made my memories come back."

"Are you grateful?"

He feels horribly aroused and wishes that his erection would go away. He wishes that this had never happened, wishes that he had never bumped into Draco, wishes that  
Draco had left him in the dark. Maybe this kind of help isn't what he needs. But then who should help him?

Severus has been trying to help and says he did the best he could under wizard's oath, but did he really? There is also his friends to factor in, especially Hermione's odd behavior when the two of them were alone. Is she under the same oath? Is that why she gave him subtle hints she knew he probably wouldn't get? And then there is Draco—he stares until the blond blurs—who was his enemy and now his friend?

"How much do you remember?"

_Not…_ "Enough."

**TBC**

A/N: The next update will probably be next Thursday after my physics test hinging on if I finish the chapter soon, though it might be delayed for a few days to get the editing and such done. So what do you make of Severus? Of Draco? And of Harry? Anymore questions arise?

Also the prequel is posted… it's called "Life is a Matter of Living." Just keep refreshing the page until you can see it. The prequel's a oneshot set the summer after Harry's 7th year. So you get 7k at once, so smile and review both (as they are very different). To hold you over for a week or two.


	9. Caught in Between

**AND SO LIFE GOES ON…  
**part of _"The Aevum Series"_  
by Nenya Entwhistle

Warning: This chapter introduces "present past". I.e. These scenes take place sometime in the past week rather than months or years before, which the past scenes have always done before. **ALSO** italics that seem to emphasize an action-rather than a word-are flashbacks and these are really the first "true" flashbacks Harry has had.  
Rating: It has been upped to R-rated b/c language (i.e. cursing and what not and sexual language).  
Betas: Ziasudra and Lesameschelle ARE the very, very best betas!

Chapter Nine  
Caught in Between

He looks like a mess. His hair, as always, resembles a bird's nest. There is no helping it, he supposes with a sigh. Not like he has the time. As it is, he is already running late. He should have left his flat ten minutes ago, but he still isn't sure about the outfit he has on. But he really has no idea why he is anxious. It's not like he needs to impress Draco, but maybe he wants to?

Harry knocks his head against the wall and winces as he hits it harder than he intended to. If he doesn't leave now, he won't catch the train in time and will be late meeting Draco at the restaurant. He really ought to leave right now, right this second… but—he takes another look at himself in the mirror—do his green shirt and black slacks look good? He frowns, not sure, though he is pretty certain it doesn't look bad.

"I might as well go," he tells the mirror and himself. "I really should leave now."

And he does.

-

"You're nervous," Becky stated, her voice getting that curious edge to it. "Why is that? Going out tonight?"

Harry snapped his head toward her and stared at her warily, trying not to twitch or tremble or do anything that would confirm her suspicions. He really didn't need his boss to know about his personal life. The fact she knew as much as she did was embarrassing enough. "Why do you ask?" he inquired nonchalantly.

"You answered my question with a question," she remarked, smiling playfully. "Which means that I can assume the answer for myself! So who's the lucky lad, Harry? Hmm? Who is it that you're going to—"

He clapped his hand over her mouth and gave her his highly distressed look. However, like previous times, it didn't make much of an impression on her. It was like she saw his hand but decided to ignore it. If he were someone else, he thought, he would have snapped. Actually he _was_ someone else. He bit his tongue. Who the hell was he? And where was his life going?

"Ouch!" he exclaimed, snatching his hand back immediately after her teeth had given it a nice indention. "You need a mouth restraint!"

She laughed and poked him hard in the stomach. "And you need to start answering my questions!"

He shrugged carelessly and noticed as he glanced around that the kids that were left were staring at them. "If you must know, _yes._"

She grinned. "I knew it."

He rolled his eyes. "Then why did you ask?"

"So I can ask you this: _who are you going on a date with?_"

-

Harry collapses on a seat in the train, double-checking his watch to make sure that the time is really what it says it is: 7:30. He can't believe that he spent more than an hour getting cleaned up and changed for the dinner. He is not that kind of person, he muses, so it's a bit funny. Why he's going all out is confusing too. It's not like Draco is anything more than a friend…

Or is he?

Didn't Draco say he only wanted to be friends? But when Harry really thinks about the way that Draco held him, pressing against him like he did, it's hard to think that's the only thing that Draco wants. Harry blushes and wonders if this whole nervous frenzy he is in means anything. What he wouldn't give to be able to talk to Hermione—but that's out of the question and how can he trust her after what she did? And it's not like Hermione would approve of Draco—Draco _was_ his enemy. So he cannot turn to Hermione, and he definitely cannot turn to Severus.

The only option is himself. Is there something else to the dinner? Is this… as Becky had said… a date?

-

"Why are you going out with a boy!" Teddy accused. "My uncle says that's unnatural and wrong!"

Harry stared at the boy with bewilderment and chagrin. He should have made Becky keep her voice down, though she had already been pretty quiet. He knew homosexuality wasn't easily accepted, and he should have been more careful. When had Teddy turned into such a good eavesdropper? Harry frowned and wondered if Teddy did this a lot at home, making himself scarce, and then listening in on the conversation. Was that why the boy knew so much about life? About reality?

"I…uh, Teddy—"

"My uncle says people like you are freaks!" he cried, his eyes watering. Harry instinctively flinched at the word and shook his head hard. The word reminded him of something, _a man with fat fists that used to shake them at him and call him: **freak**!_ "Freaks, freaks, freaks," Teddy moaned and covered his face with his hands. "Am I like you then?"

Harry had no idea how to answer that. What was right and what was wrong? And was this man calling him _freak really the uncle that Severus had told him about?_ Vernon Dursley? If his uncle was like Teddy's—he looked at the boy in sadness and sympathy—no wonder he had instinctively felt a connection between him and Teddy.

"You are not a freak," Harry whispered, opening his arms _which Remus used to do for him_ for Teddy. Severus had told him this, told him everything about the last five years. According to his grudging admission, Remus had been his only real, decent parental figure. _Oh Remus_, Harry cries intuitively, _where are you when I need you?_ "Come here, Teddy."

The boy lifted up his tear-stained face and hesitantly moved toward him before stopping. "Touching me won't make you a freak," Harry remarked reassuringly, continuing to hold out his arms. "And doesn't it feel good when I hold you like a father does for a child?"

Teddy's lips trembled and then he nodded. "_Yesss_."

Harry crooked his finger and Teddy dove into his arms. "Everything will be all right, Teddy," he murmured, stroking the boy's hair. "And you are not a freak. Don't listen to your uncle. I know it's hard, and it took me a while to stop listening to my own."

Teddy rubbed his cheek against Harry's neck. "You had an uncle like mine?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

-

"You're late." Draco points at his watch and stands up. "Should I be offended?"

Harry blushes and shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I uh—" No, he is not going to tell Draco that. Harry smiles sheepishly and grabs the back of his chair only to have Draco's hand stop him.

"Allow me," Draco murmurs, pulling the chair out and gesturing for Harry to take a seat. "I was the one that invited you here—didn't I? You are my guest, so I must play the host."

Harry bites his lips and nods, taking the offered seat. He fidgets with his feet underneath the table while Draco resumes his place at the opposite end. "Err…," he mumbles, feeling awkward and gauche, "this place is nice."

Draco smiles and flags down a waiter. "I think this place is more than nice."

"Oh it is!" Harry flushes even more. "I… _god_ I'm making a fool of myself, aren't I?"

Draco laughs and inclines his head in affirmation. "It's not without its charms though."

Why would such a beautiful man think that he is cute? But then Draco is entitled to his opinion, and he is probably only being polite. Harry has seen Draco's mansion, and he knows that the man comes from an upper-class background. His elegant manners have already been demonstrated and the compliment is probably only a necessary extension.

"You like me making a fool of myself."

Draco shrugs and turns his attention to the waiter that has arrived. "We would like to start dinner now."

"Yes, sir," the waiter says. "Right away."

Returning his attention to Harry, Draco taps the wine bottle. "Would you like some Vermouth?"

"Erm, I guess so. All right."

Draco raises an eyebrow and before he tips the bottle over the two glasses, he remarks, "You've never drunk wine have you?"

"Uh no," Harry admits, using his hand to indicate their surroundings. "I've never been to a restaurant like this either."

Draco blinks once and pours a generous amount of wine into each glass. He slides one over to Harry and says, "Well then, you have certainly been deprived. I was going to toast to something else, but I guess this will do just as well. _To new joys and loves. _" He lifts his glass and waits for Harry to do the same.

Harry doesn't quite know how to respond to that toast. Looking carefully into Draco's eyes, Harry sees a dizzying intensity in them—smoldering and heated. If he is less than careful, he might get scorched. But would he really mind? Yes, in regards to Severus, and no, in regards to everything else.

Draco is the one person that hasn't betrayed him. But is he ready to take the next step? There is challenge as well as an emotion. Harry isn't sure, but he can acknowledge the toast and he echoes: "_To new joys and loves. _"

-

"Tell me about Draco," Harry demanded, looking Severus straight in the eye without flinching or hesitating. He needed to know whatever Severus might tell him, even if it would be harsher and harder than any other truth. "Everything, please."

Severus pursed his lips together for a brief moment and then raised a challenging eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to know everything?"

"I'm sure."

"Knowing everything can lead to unpleasant things," Severus murmured. There was an edge to his voice that Harry knew was supposed to goad him on. Why he just knew things about this enigmatic man should confuse him—but he accepted it—and so it didn't. "Very unpleasant."

"It's already happened," Harry muttered. "I might as well learn it so Draco doesn't get the upper hand because he thinks I don't know."

Severus inclined his head. "From what you've told me that Draco has informed you of so far, you know you two are enemies. And Draco is correct, I suppose, that because of Weasley you two were never able to get close. But be aware that if Draco had sought your friendship, he would have gained it. There is this drive in Malfoy to get what he wants, and he didn't want you as a friend as much as an enemy. Unlike Weasley, he would not have liked to stay in your shadow. Even Weasley didn't enjoy it, and I'm not too surprised that your red-headed friend was quick to agree to keep your memories from you.

"If you couldn't remember who you were, then you'd no longer hold your fame and wealth over him. And while Weasley is celebrated in the Wizarding World as a hero, you—Harry, are nothing but a ghost, a shadow and a secret that only exists to those who know the truth. Of course, people know you're alive, but with the years that have gone by, they have forgotten you because the truth was never really publicized. No one is certain that you were the one that killed Voldemort. Only a Death Eater would know that. And didn't you say that Draco said you defeated the Dark Lord? How would he know that, Harry, unless he was one? Unless he was like me?"

Harry opened his mouth, trying to find his voice, and yet nothing came out.

"Did he tell you that Harry? Did he tell you he was a Death Eater? You knew his father, Lucius, wanted you dead. But did you know that Draco wanted you dead as well? That he was one of those awful, horrible murderers that bathed the Wizarding World in blood? Did you? Did you know?"

Harry shook his head and buried his head in his hands. "Then why," he croaked, "is Draco not in jail?"

"In Azkaban you mean?" Severus murmured. "Which is the Wizarding equivalent to hell on Earth, and to which only the most dangerous of prisoners go?"

Harry nodded and bit his lip. "Yes."

"He somehow didn't have a Dark Mark on him," Severus snapped, pulling his sleeve and showing the hideous skull that decorated his upper arm. "This used to be darker, but it has faded since you killed Voldemort. But somehow, even though Draco was there, he hadn't gotten marked yet. No doubt, he would have been if not for you and he would have been a good little Death Eater, just like his father. It's in his blood, darkness and evil… do you want that?"

Harry jerked his eyes up to stare into Severus'. "What about you then?"

"I have never said I was a good person, but I at least worked for good."

Harry looked away. "But Draco has never lied… to me."

"And he has never saved your life either."

-

"Thank you for asking me to dinner."

Draco smiles and dabs his mouth with the corner of his napkin. "It was my pleasure."

"And thank you for telling me the truth," Harry remarks, staring across the table into Draco's eyes, "which my friends have kept from me for so long."

Draco inclines his head and his smile picks up an added brightness. "I am glad that I could help, and that you trust me enough to believe what I said."

Harry shrugs and sighs. "I don't know what to believe anymore." And he didn't. Should he believe Severus? Or believe that Draco had been wholly truthful with the way things were between them? Especially when Severus has admitted to not liking Malfoy? Whom should he trust? His past lover or Draco? "I have no idea what to do either."

Draco leans forward and reaches out with his hand to brush his fingers against Harry's cheek. "What you should do is try to get your magic back. The only way you can prevent them from doing this to you again is to defend yourself against them with your own innate and powerful magic."

How did Draco know? "Why… why do you think they will do this again?"

"Because they did it once."

-

"When will my magic come back?" Harry demanded. "You've told me about my past. You've told me about Draco. But you haven't mentioned my magic. When will it come back? When? And how do I get it back?"

Severus traced a finger down Harry's jaw in a way that made Harry feel like he was being studied—as if Severus was trying to see something familiar, to touch who he had been and maybe still was. Severus' finger reached Harry's chin and he applied enough force to tilt Harry's face up.

"You haven't been taking the medicine for a few days now," Severus remarked. "But it'll take a while for it to leave your system. When it's gone, your magic will slowly start coming back. Of course, it'll be uncontrollable for a while, as if you were a wizard child and you will likely have spurts of accidental magic. Soon, I believe, you'll be able to wield a wand and start learning magic again. Even though you once knew it, practicing magic after going without it for a long time is not easy and you've been away from it for more than five years…"

"When will my memories come back?"

Severus' hand dropped from Harry's face. "Last time, as I've already told you, when your magic returned, it somehow snapped your memories back—reconnecting the part of your brain that was damaged. I believe if you were a less powerful wizard," he said, still staring intently, "you would be completely amnesiac. The force, the sheer power of the _Avada Kedavra_ that Voldemort used on you snapped the nerves to your neocortex. You probably should be dead, and in a way I suppose the Killing Curse did what it was meant to do. It took away your life… your memories of your life, and thus who you are.

"It gave you a chance to be reborn as a mere shadow of yourself. You became a simple muggle with an ordinary life, though less ordinary than some. At least you have a sense of purpose in your life, from what little I've heard about you and the shelter you work at. It's better than what either of your two best friends are doing, wasting their lives behind a Ministry desk job doing paperwork until one day they are promoted when those above them retire or die." Severus paused and leaned forward, so close that Harry thought he might kiss him again. But no lips touched his.

"But your memories will return soon, probably after your magic, and then you will remember all that you've forgotten."

"All that you've told me?"

Severus shook his head. "No, not even I know everything about you."

-

"Invite me in." Harry can feel Draco leaning over his shoulder and sense his breath tickling his ear. "You know you want to."

But Harry isn't so sure of that. He still has no idea what Draco wants from him. In words, the blond says friendship. But his hands and eyes speak another language, of touch and of gaze. Neither one hints at something as easy and comfortable as friendship. Friends with benefits, perhaps, but nothing purely platonic.

"Open the door," Draco whispers. "Then ask me to come in." Harry shudders when Draco's hand covers his own. "It's easy," Draco says. "Then we can sit and talk more. You can ask me anything you want." Draco moves closer until his cheek is touching Harry's. "You know there is more that you still don't know. Much more that you still have to relearn. Like your magic, _when_ it returns."

Harry puts the key in and twists it, hearing the bolt shift. He turns the knob and opens the door. He pushes it open and despite his misgivings he is going to invite Draco in because even as unsure as he is about everything… there are things he would like to ask, to compare to what he already knows. But when he is about to turn around to motion Draco in, he sees something which makes him blink to make sure he is not conjuring a nightmare.

"Severus," Harry mumbles, seeing the dark-haired and dark-eyed man lounging on his couch like Hermione often does, "what are you doing here?"

Severus lifts his head, stares briefly at him before shifting his harsh gaze to Draco, who places both of his hands on his hips. "I am here," Severus snaps, "because you failed to show up at my office tonight."

Harry has forgotten that it's been a bit of a tradition this week, showing up at Severus' office after working hours. Eating and drinking, listening and talking, finding and seeking. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but—"

"Why is he here?" Draco whispers to him so low that Harry can almost believe Severus won't hear. But something tells Harry that Severus can hear despite the low volume. Harry wonders if this is an assumption he makes because he had been told that Severus is a spy or because this is another feeling of a memory he has. He isn't sure; he doesn't know; and he hates it. "Why Harry?"

Harry swallows hard, his eyes staring at the floor rather than at Severus glaring at Draco. "Because he knows."

-

"You're asking me out," Harry stated, looking at Draco with confusion and uncertainty.

"Yes," Draco affirmed. "That is what, 'Would you like to go to dinner with me?' means."

"Are you always this sarcastic?" Harry snapped.

"Do you always sidestep the issue at hand?" Draco retorted. "And do you really need to think this long about a rather simple request?"

"Yes!" Harry cried, running his hand through his messy hair. Yes, he did need to think about this. This was a big deal, or was it? Maybe he was making it one when it didn't need to be. Harry fidgeted and started pacing. "I don't think friends ask each other out," he pointed out. "So why are you asking me?"

"Because I can," Draco said. "Because I want to and because I don't want to just be your friend."

"You don't?"

Draco threw back his head and laughed. "I know you felt what I felt earlier. Do you think that's what a friend feels for a friend?"

No. Of course not. Not unless they were in denial. But should he say yes? Harry stared at the ground, noting the boring beige color. And yet, he felt guilty. What of Severus? But then Severus was his past. What should he feel guilty for? It wasn't like this was a real date. It was just… going out and… eating. "All right," Harry agreed. "I'll go."

"Good," Draco murmured and held out his hand. "Will you take it this time?"

_A smaller version_ of this very same hand _once reached out in an offer of friendship_, but this time it was of something more ambiguous. _Last time, he had rejected i_t but this time he took it. _The brief flash of offense_ no longer appeared. Instead there was only a smile.

-

"He knows? He isn't supposed to know!" Draco shouts, his eyes narrowing and his lips curling up in almost a snarl. It is actually a bit scary to see Draco looking so much… so much like whom? Harry closes his eyes to draw up the image of Draco, trying to think of whom Draco reminds him of, and another, older blond comes to mind. Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father.

Harry immediately steps away from Draco, almost cringing, and walks into his living room where Draco follows. Lucius Malfoy is the one that makes him shudder, makes him flinch. It isn't Draco—it can't be Draco because it's someone older in his mind, _someone with darker eyes and a more powerful bearing_. And yet this Draco with his narrow slits for eyes looks too much like his father for Harry's own comfort. But that's a good thing, isn't it? He's remembering something… finally.

"Draco Malfoy," Severus snaps, approaching both of them with his ground-eating strides, "I haven't seen you in years."

The glare—the formidable and intimidating glare is in place. It aims to cow people, and it succeeded. Harry jerks his face away from Severus' direction and stares anywhere but at him or Draco. Is this another memory? Or is just another instinctive feeling? Something he just knows?

"And it's a pity," Severus sneers, "that I have to see you now."

"What's more of a pity," Draco retorts, "is that we even have to see your ugly, greasy face again. Have you sufficiently disgusted Harry yet?"

Harry flickers his gaze toward Draco just when his eyes darken _to the exact shade of his father's_. Instead of making him step backwards like it did initially—he finds that the gaze isn't as terrifying as it once was. There is no true power behind Draco's gaze, much like there was no power behind Lucius'. After all, Harry knows the truth about Lucius even if Draco will never tell him.

"Why you little—"

"Insults Severus? How plebian of you."

Severus told him. High and mighty—_proud_ Lucius—is locked away in Azkaban and has been there for the last twelve years. Rotting slowly, growing progressively madder until it became a question of when, not if, he would finally snap. Harry should be shuddering, should feel pity, and yet there is nothing but vindication **and that** makes him tremble. This is his darkness. This is the reason why his friends and Albus must have wanted to keep his past a secret.

Was he a monster?

Would he have become like Voldemort?

Eventually?

"Malfoy…"

"Formalities Severus, from my former Head of House? How dreadful of you," Draco murmurs and shrugs his shoulders. "But I know how you used to look at him in class when no one was looking, when he wasn't looking. So tell me, since he doesn't remember how much he hated you—are you using it for your advantage like you used to use the Slytherins in your house, you pedophile!"

"Then what are you then, Malfoy?" Severus hisses, stalking over to him until they are face-to-face. "Hmmm? An immature brat that must resort to name calling to feel the superiority you once did? But that wasn't really yours, was it? It was all your father's and without him _you are nothing!_"

"I know you want him!" Draco screams, shoving his face forward. "I can see it in your eyes. You're a sick, sick man Severus! And how long have you wanted to shove your cock into his arse? How long have you wanted to fuck him? Huh? How long!"

Severus' hand snakes out and grips Draco's chin in a bruising hold, tilting the blond's face up viciously. "Why do I need to want him," Severus whispers lowly, "when I had and have him?"

Draco's eyes widen in horror and he stumbles backwards, bumping into Harry. "You're his past lover." Draco whirls around and grabs Harry by the shoulders, shaking him hard. "How could you fuck someone as ugly and old as he is? Don't you have _any_ respect for yourself? _Any_ standards?"

This is all his fault, Harry thinks and moans, Draco and Severus screaming and insulting each other. _If not for him…_ He clutches his head, feeling a black spot thumping in his forehead, and sinks to the ground. "_No no no no no_," he whimpers to himself, curling into a ball and rocking back and forth. "This is my fault."

Someone, he doesn't know who, crouches next to him and places a hand on his back. "Harry," Severus says, "this is not your fault."

"_You stupid, stupid impertinent brat!" Severus screams. "Do you have any idea what you've done? You weren't supposed to add the claw of an eagle into the potion until it was simmering! And don't look at me like that, reproving me, it's all your idiotic fault!" _

"You said it was, you said it was."

"Of course he did," Draco sneers, his voice sounding close but Harry isn't sure how close. "He hates you, and whatever pretty words he might have used to get into your trousers—you should remember that he has and always will see your father, the man he loathed more than Voldemort, whenever he sees your face. Don't you understand Harry? Snape was using you, and—"

"Enough!" Severus roars and Harry can imagine his dark eyes narrowing into a fearsome glare enough to cow even 7th years to their knees. "Malfoy has no idea what he is talking about, and even if he did know—do you think he would tell you the truth when he obviously wants to be the one fucking you?"

Harry jerks his face up and would have fallen if he wasn't already on his bottom. In front of him, Draco stares to the right of his face and when Harry turns, he sees Severus returning the look. If their words earlier hadn't been bad enough, this contest of eyes, of punishing gaze is worse. And to add the words again…

"How—"

"How did I know?" Severus snaps, his lips curling up into a vicious smirk. "How could I not know? You rather blatantly stated I have a thing for young boys, and you Draco Malfoy have a thing for power and prestige, and who in this world has the greatest power and prestige that is alive? Why Harry Potter of course. And I will tell you this, Malfoy, you will not have him. I will kill you before I let you touch what is mine."

"_Do you love me?" Harry asks, his green eyes staring up at Severus'. "Do you?" _

"Love is highly overrated," Severus scoffs, reaching with his hand to cup Harry's face. He bends his head down and kisses Harry on the lips, gently at first then adding more pressure and searing heat. "Compatibility is far more important."

"You don't love me," Harry states softly, his eyes flickering to the harsh lines of Severus' face. "So why do you care?"

-

A/N: The last scene is intense isn't it? (took me 4 bloody days to write it) So anyone would like to predict what Severus or Draco will react to Harry's last line? And what do you think about the Draco/Severus confrontation? Do you think I did it IC? Also, what does it make you feel about Draco and Severus? Lastly, Harry's regaining his memories!

Aren't you simply excited? And if you read, even if it's to say you read it I'd like to know. Thanks in advance.

Next update in a week or so. This was early ;-). Also join the y!group: groups(dot)yahoo(dot)com(slash)group(slash)aevumgroup. Just some polls to vote in and some deleted scenes from previous chapters.


	10. No Man's Land

**AND SO LIFE GOES ON…  
**Part of _"The Aevum Series"  
_By Nenya Entwhistle

Thanks to my wonderful betas: _Lesameschelle_ and _Ziasudra_

Chapter Ten  
No Man's Land

"How could he love you?" Draco murmurs in low and calculated tone, rising to his feet, which causes Severus to follow suit. "When he doesn't even know what the word means!"

Harry recognizes the innate challenge in Draco's voice, how he is trying to manipulate his words for a desired effect. And if he allows it to work—it will. Does he want it to? Harry shifts his eyes toward Severus, standing there with his arms folded looking formidable and relentless. Then there is Draco—Harry returns his gaze to the blond—who looks graceful and composed even when his eyes had been blazing with emotion and his voice had been shouting insults earlier. In their own way each is concealing something, but who is doing it more?

He doesn't know. His mind is blank. Nothing is coming, not a memory of Severus or even a feeling. And then there's Draco, who he knows now but can remember nothing of what happened between them before, other than in relation to his father. That's a scary thought. It shouldn't be like that. Why is Draco reminding him of Lucius when Draco should be reminding him of himself? Like Severus does?

"Are you saying that you know what love is?" Severus whispers, a deadly edge to it. "Because I think you're mistaken if you think your obsessive complex for Harry is love. It's an addiction and a need. You want someone that doesn't know about your past, which is what you'll get with Harry, isn't it? You get a chance to start over with someone that knows nothing, someone who will be grateful to you for telling him of a magical world he knew nothing about. That's what you want, am I not right? You want a second chance in a world that will give you none."

"Yes!" Draco screams, his eyes blazing with such a burning fire that Harry sees nothing of Lucius in him. "Is that so wrong? To want a chance for a life in the Wizarding World when they've shut me out of everything I've known? You would be stuck in the same dilemma that I was in if you weren't Albus Dumbledore's little pet. He kept you safe, but no one did the same for me!"

"I wasn't the one that wanted to crawl into Voldemort's service!" Severus roars, seeming to tower over Draco even though the blond is as tall as he is. "You were this close," Severus exclaims, holding up his fingers with a tiny space between them, "I know, to giving your soul and your life to him! But Harry's timing was perfect, was it not? He killed Voldemort just before you were to be—"

"Marked," Draco finishes, his eyes flickering from Severus to Harry and softening. "But even if I might have been foolish enough to have wanted it, and I will admit that it was an idiotic thing to want, I was never marked, unlike you."

_"Show me," Harry demands, his green eyes penetrating Snape's dark eyes. "Show me your mark." _

Snape folds his arms across his chest and glares down at Harry. "Why should I show you?"

"If you're going to fuck me," Harry murmurs in a low, throaty voice, "then I think I have the right to see your fucking mark."

"You have no rights in regards to me," Snape sneers, "but I have every right over you." He stalks over to Harry and grips his chin in a bruising hold. "Do you understand what you did when you swore to me that you'd never mention our relationship unless I gave you permission to? This means I can do anything I want to you, violate you in any manner I choose and you cannot raise a voice in complaint." Snape's finger traces over Harry's lip rather gently. "I could rape you and you won't be able to say who it was that took your virginity. How does it feel, Harry, to be so helpless? To be at the mercy of my goodwill?"

"I'm not helpless," Harry retorts, feeling more alive in Snape's presence than with anyone else since Remus had died. "I'm not! And do you want to be like them? Like Lucius? Having to force me with the promise of what I'll gain after I become your fucktoy? Huh? I thought the reason you joined Albus Dumbledore was because you didn't want to be like that! But you are, aren't you?" Harry whispers, leaning closer into Snape. "You're exactly what you don't want to be."

Snape presses forward and his lips meet Harry's. The kiss isn't gentle nor is it brutal. "I am nothing like them," he hisses when he pulls away. Harry breathes hard, his eyes wide and his pupils dilated. "If I were, I would have already had you and killed you. But instead I'm going to help you."

"Yesss… help me."

Snape bends his head down once again. "If you listen, beg nicely, then I will keep my promise. Unlike Gryffindors," he says softly, sibilantly, "I don't break my word."

Harry flinches and would have moved away but for the fact that Snape's arms are around his waist, holding him still. "I didn't break my word."

"You mourned for more than a day," Snape whispers. "You promised you wouldn't."

"How—"

"Shush Harry, and open your mouth."

"I redeemed myself," Severus snaps, "but where's yours, Malfoy? Your only redemption factor is that you've never been marked. You're a pathetic excuse for a human being. At least your father, Lucius, had a sense of himself that wasn't derived from his father! Who are you, Draco, without your father? Hmm? Would you like me to tell you? _You're a nobody!_"

"I—" Draco shouts and then shuts his mouth abruptly. Instead he drops back to his knees and scoots closer to Harry and grabs him by the arms. "Look at me Harry." Harry turns away from Severus, who is so far and yet so near that Harry can feel the man's wrath, and shifts his gaze to Draco. "Snape is not wrong. I did want to join Voldemort, but that's only because—"

"Because you're a weak and shallow—"

"Because," Draco begins again firmly, "Voldemort was the only one that offered to help me with my mother's insanity. Do you know what happens to people who are soul-bound to each other and they aren't able to be with them? They go crazy." Draco shudders and drops his hands away from Harry. "My mother was never stable after my father was gone, but she continued to get worse and the fucking Ministry wouldn't even let her see him in prison. We didn't want him to be released, though we did try. All we wanted was to see him, to let my mother see the man she loved more than her own life! Was that so wrong? Was it?"

_"Potter," Draco sneers. "What are you doing dwelling in Slytherin territory?" _

Harry shutters his eyes and mumbles, "Remedial Potions."

"If you're so intellectually incompetent in that area, why do you even bother with NEWT Potions?" Draco says snidely. "It's not like you'll get the E that you need to get into the Auror ranks. It's hopeless and you might as well give up. Because no one really thinks you have the power to kill the Dark Lord. And if you do, then you're even stupider than I thought."

Harry says nothing, remembering what Remus told him, that he should count to ten whenever he felt like exploding at someone. Remus had said there was nothing more aggravating to a person trying to get a rise out of you then to fail to get a response at all. And Harry had used it plenty of times in the past, especially with Snape, and it always seems to work perfectly.

"I suppose the entire Wizarding World will mourn you as a tragic hero when you die," Draco snarls. "Too bad I won't have a front row seat to witness it. I'm sure it would be a bloody fantastic show."

"Why wouldn't you?" Harry asks, cursing at his tongue for getting away from him. He wasn't supposed to acknowledge Draco, and it isn't like he cares. But why wouldn't Draco have a front row seat unless…

"Do you think I would want to follow that madman?" Draco retorts in a low, low voice. How he manages to get his disgust and indignation across with such a soft tone is rather impressive, Harry thinks. "Unlike you, Potter, we're not all moronic Gryffindors that do whatever someone else says. I am no Peter Pettigrew."

"And your father is?" Harry can't resist saying.

"Leave my father out of this!" Draco snarls, using his hands to push Harry away. "And get the fuck out of here before I take points away! After all, who's going to argue with the Head Boy when I say you were out after curfew? Especially when Harry Potter is such the good little rule-breaker."

"No," Harry whispers, his voice faint and uncertain, "it's not." He turns his head toward Severus, who even when crouching has a formidable glower that is thankfully not focused on him. Instead it is aimed at Draco, and Harry wonders how the blond doesn't flinch. "But…"

"But what Harry?" Severus says sinuously, his dark eyes shifting away from Draco to Harry as if he just knows when Harry is looking at him. "What are you thinking?" Severus reaches out with his hand and Harry allows the touch. Harry hears Draco's low growl, protestations but he instinctively leans into the touch. Why the severe, harsh man doesn't frighten him even after all the nasty words he's said to Draco—confuses him. Is this trust? And if it is… then was that how they started a relationship? "Are you thinking about what I'm thinking? Remembering what I'm remembering?"

"I…" Harry begins hesitantly, his cheeks warming and his body reacting. "He didn't want to be a Death Eater." The touch of Severus' fingers change; it isn't as comforting as they had been a moment ago. "I remember that. It was in the hallways leading to…"

"…the Slytherin dorms, the very end of 7th year, right before NEWTs," Draco finishes. "I said, _'Do you think I want to follow that madman?'_" Harry feels Draco's hand touch his. He doesn't flinch, but he feels awkward, strange to have both men touching him as if it is their right. "Did you believe me?"

Harry pushes his hands and feet until they propel him backwards, away from the two of them. There, he wraps his arms around his legs and rocks back and forth. They start to approach him but he shakes his head furiously. "Don't," he says. "Don't."

And they listen.

Instead they turn to each other, their eyes sharpening and glaring. "Why should he believe you?" Snape snaps. "Especially when you later turned to Voldemort, the very person you said you would never want to serve? Hmmm? Where did that vow go, Malfoy? Or is your word simply as meaningless as your life? So much for not being his bitch. You were, even if you never got his mark."

"Why you bastard!" Draco screams. "How dare you say that? When you—you know more than anyone how much—"

"It didn't stop you, did it?"

_The air is quiet, too quiet. Harry knows that feeling when it gets too silent. He recognizes the complex Silencing Charms that have been implemented for privacy's sake. To him it's an innate challenge to unravel them without the caster knowing, whoever it is. It would put his wandless magic to the test, which Severus always says is the best way to do undetectable magic. He senses how complicated the charms guarding the room are, considers the location, and knows—just feels—Severus' magical signature is the one in place. What would his lover think if he were to slither his way through and yet keep the charms up for all the others? _

Probably be irritated and prone to accusing Harry for not respecting someone's privacy, and yet Severus' eyes would be glowing dark in approval at such a Slytherin characteristic. It's something a snake would do, and hasn't Severus said that he's becoming a good slippery serpent? Harry smirks and holds his hand up against the wall, letting his fingers seek out the Silencing Charms that are embedded against the stone, amplifying outward to cancel out the sound around.

"I can't wait any longer," a low, somewhat familiar voice hisses. Harry twists his face up into a frown trying to remembering whose voice this is. He feels like he ought to recognize it, but he also knows he hasn't heard this voice in a long time. "I've stood on the fence long enough already and it's done my mother little good." Harry's eyes widen a little when he realizes who this is and he takes an involuntary step back. What is Draco doing talking with Severus? "I've tried to listen to what you've said, but it's not doing any good!" Draco exclaims. "And my mother's the one suffering!"

Harry narrows his eyes when he hears an odd tone in his lover's voice. "Draco…" Severus sounds hoarse, tired, and perhaps disappointed? "Your mother has already lost it and what she suffers from cannot be cured with the mere sight of him! And seeing Lucius again and then being ripped apart from him would only make it harder for her to bear the days when she can't see him. There's nothing more that you can do for her, Draco. You must save yourself."

"And not think of her?" Draco cries. "What a selfish bastard you are! No wonder your parents didn't want you! No wonder they were so eager to get rid of you! Did you even love your parents, Severus? Did you even care what happened to them?"

"Why should I care about two miscreants that took perverse joy in making my life a living hell? I'm glad they're dead, may their souls rot in hell," Severus snarls viciously. Harry's lips twitch as he remembers some of the foul things Severus had called his parents. No wonder the two of them are compatible, Harry muses, similar backgrounds—similar childhoods.

"Well you might not give a shit about your fucking parents, but I do. I love her, Severus, and helping her even a little is worth—"

"Throwing your life away to a madman?" Severus snaps. Harry can see those dark eyes flashing with a challenge, staring into Draco with a relentless intensity. "Becoming the monster that you said you didn't want to be? Someone your mother would have hated if she was in her right mind? Do you think she would have wanted that?"

There's a silence that stretches more than the boundaries of the spell. It makes Harry fidget where he stands, knowing that he shouldn't be listening, and yet he cannot help but stay and eavesdrop. He presses his ear against the wall even though he doesn't need to do that to listen in. It just gives him the feeling that he's hearing more, not that there is anything to hear. Neither of them is saying anything. The silence drags on, pushes outward, and overhauls the charm.

"It doesn't matter—"

"Get out of my sight!" Severus shouts, really shouts. Harry has never heard him raise his voice like this, thundering something akin to scream. Usually just speaking in a tone a bit louder than his talking voice is enough. It's his presence that lends to the volume of his voice, not the actual sound. "Now, Malfoy!"

There's the sound of a door opening, then slamming. Harry presses his body against the wall and murmurs a Shadow Charm that will make him appear as if he is not there. Wandless magic, he thinks, is quite the useful art, especially when wand-waving would attract unnecessary attention. It's a moment after the spell's activated that Draco storms past him with his blond hair and expensive robes flying behind him until he's gone.

Someone shakes him gently, long fingers that wrap around both of his arms in a manner that doesn't frighten him. It's Severus, Harry knows. Like he knows that it's Draco who's yelling at Severus to stop it, to stop shaking him. He wants to tell Draco that it's okay, that Severus often did this to him but when he opens his mouth, no sound comes out. His throat constricts and his eyes see nothing. A terrible pain blocks out any thought, any memories he might still have and sends him into the darkness.

-

_"How could he do this to me?" Harry snarls, his eyes staring at the shattered bits of a broken mirror, scattered before him. His image is parted into pieces, fragmented everywhere around the floor, reflecting how he feels at this moment. "How could Albus do this to me? I thought he knew better. He should know better! He more than anyone else should know that he shouldn't have done what he did! MERLIN, I WANT TO HATE HIM!" he screams and slams his fist against the wall. His face screws up in pain as his knuckles crunch together. "I do, I do, I do," he chants, dropping to his knees. "I have to hate him. He should have known better. I need to hate him. Then it'll be easier. It'll be easier, so much easier. Hate him, hate him just hate him." _

-

Severus snores, not loudly, but he does snore. It's a soft, gentle sound that lulls Harry to sleep most nights. Tonight he stays up, listening to it, reveling in the fact that he's here in Severus' bed, in his room and that he's here for keeps. It doesn't matter if Severus tries to push him out, he won't leave—he will not. But Severus has not even tried to. It is as if he knows it would do no good. Harry smirks at the darkness that surrounds them, envelops them. This is where he belongs, with whom he belongs.

-

It's easier to be alone, Harry thinks, drawing his legs up against his chest and wrapping his arms around them. The Room of Requirement is bare. The walls are gray and the light is so dim as to be almost nonexistent. There is no furnishing, nothing but stone walls and darkness. It doesn't matter to Harry, because even though the Room of Requirement is supposed to give him what he wants, it can't. Even the most enchanted room other than for the Chamber of Secrets can't bring Remus back to life. No magic can, even that of ancient, old magic that has been lost for generations. Harry presses his cold cheeks against his knees and wants to wail, to cry, to feel something other than emptiness.

-

Harry throws some clothes and some fake papers he's bought into his bag. He has already decided that he can't stay in England anymore. He has to get away, far away. His anger still overwhelms him, but he has reined it in enough to start thinking rationally. He zips the bag shut and slumps against his bed. He would like to leave right now, but it's probably better to travel late in the night when there will be less people around to observe him. If he's lucky, he might be able to evade Albus' tracking spells on him without the old coot knowing before it's far, far too late.

-

He feels like he is dying when he sees a hideous green light sweeping toward Severus, threatening to engulf his lover into an end. Harry moves and does so quickly, but he still thinks he's not quick enough, that when he gets there it'll be too late. He stumbles, falls to his knees, but it's a perfect angle for his clumsiness. He lands directly in front of Severus when the Avada Kedavra_ hits. Instead of extinguishing Severus' life, it rips into his soul. The feeling of death departs from Harry because his life is slipping away from him. Because he **is** dying. _

-

The light hurts, compounding the pain he already feels, when Harry opens his eyes. It takes him a moment to recognize that there is almost no light in the room. The only bit comes from his bathroom, which means he's in his bed. His comforters are wrapped around him and it's when he turns to the side to look at the time, that he sees Draco and Severus sitting there sleeping on chairs stolen from his dining room.

He doesn't want to disturb either of them, but he feels the pressing need to pee. He pushes the covers down and rises, feeling dizzy and disoriented. Harry takes a breath and closes his eyes to shut out the swirling images.

"You know, it's all right to ask for help," Severus says softly, "you stupid boy."

_"Do you love me?" Harry demands, staring into Severus' dark eyes with as much intensity as his lover. "Do you?" He jabs a finger into Severus' chest. "Because sometimes you act like you can't get enough of me and other times you just shove me away. Because we've been together for nearly five years and people don't stay around that long if they don't love each other. Because…" _

"Because what?" Severus snaps in his characteristically annoyed, aggravated voice. "Because you need to put a definition, a reason behind this relationship we're in? Does it even matter, you stupid boy, to define what we have with the puny words of humankind?" His hand makes a fist of Harry's robes and then he pulls the young man toward him. "When all that really matters is what we feel?" Severus bends his head down and crushes his lips against Harry's.

"Will you not even say it now?" Harry asks, opening his eyes to see Severus hovering near him with concern. "Can you not tell me? After all this time, will you not give me an answer?"

Severus' eyes briefly look away. "What is your question?"

"Do you love me?"

Severus opens his mouth and then purses his lips together. From the side, Harry hears Draco say in a groggy voice, though his words are sharp: "How can he answer that when he doesn't?"

_"I don't understand…" _

"Of course you don't understand, you incompetent ignoramus!" Severus sneers in his patronizing way. "I can't even believe that you've used this spell before! Can you do nothing right?"

Harry simply shrugs. "Show me again."

"You aren't even holding your wand properly," Severus snaps, stalking over to Harry and jerking his wrist into the right position. "That's the way you hold it, now try it again!"

Harry holds his wand up and levels it at Severus. "Legilimens!_" _

This time he penetrates Severus' mind. Harry remembers quite well the last time he used the spell to intrude, how he found the memory he wanted to find, and the surprise he felt when he could feel Severus' tension, nerves, and the fact that there was no hatred for him. Dislike, yes; irritation, most definitely. But true hatred was lacking and that is why he's here, casting the same spell again a few months later.

He can think no more of himself because he is suddenly swamped with memory after memory of Severus' childhood. Of his parents arguing and screaming at each other; of Severus hiding in his room underneath the covers when he was little; of his parents berating and shouting at him for being such an ugly offspring; of Severus' joy to go to Hogwarts, only to be disappointed by being exiled immediately because of who he is. A feeling overwhelms Harry, not pity or even sympathy, but something more than a physical connection.

It's as if he can almost understand who he fucks daily.

Draco reaches his hand out to touch Harry, but Severus snaps, "Don't touch him!"

"Why shouldn't I?" Draco spits, his voice poisoned and ugly. "It's not as if he wants someone like you touching him now that he can have me."

Someone would have to tell Draco one day such arrogance is more than a little irritating, Harry muses and then groans. His head hurts too much to think about much of anything and with these two men—no, children—here fighting over him he can't get any peace whatsoever. But then he doubts telling them to leave will do any good. They will probably just start arguing with him. So Harry closes his eyes and just tries to drown out the sounds of their bickering.

"You still are an arrogant little arse, aren't you Malfoy?" Severus snarls softly.

"The only reason I can think of that Harry would deem to sink so far as to sleep with you is if he had no other options," Draco says in a low voice, ignoring what Severus said entirely. "Now that I think about it, he stayed at Hogwarts after his schooldays were over, didn't he? He couldn't very well carry on an affair with a student because that would be decidedly improper." Draco clears his throat deliberately. "But if Harry is gay as he obviously is, then who else could he fuck on the staff but you? Flitwick? Dumbledore? Please—he only fucked you because you were the only option, as ugly and repulsive as you are."

For some reason Harry wants to come to Severus' aid, though what Draco says doesn't seem wrong. He doesn't have to open his eyes to picture Severus' large, hideous nose or his dark, intense eyes that would frighten anyone with a measure of sanity, or the harsh lines of his face where he has frowned too much. Then there is the man's greasy hair and his thin build that even his clothes cannot hide. Harry doesn't wonder what is hidden underneath, he pretty much can guess. Gaunt body where probably some of the bones are visible, definitely not a beautiful sight. But even if there is nothing beautiful about Severus, Harry realizes there is no need to defend him.

"Do you resort to derisive words to make you feel mightier than you are?" Severus whispers, his voice never sounding more dangerous. "I think I've mentioned before that with Harry you'd get to start over, but it's more than a mere second chance isn't it? Have you mentioned to Harry that you're an outcast in our world? If he wanted to reestablish himself there, you would be the worst person to guide him." Severus pauses, letting the silence soak into the air. "Let me guess, you were hoping to use Harry—"

"I wasn't!" Draco shouts loud enough that Harry opens his eyes and shifts them toward the blond. Draco's face is flushed and his eyes are piercing, striking and yet as Harry flickers his eyes to Severus—he has no idea what to do about either of them. Both in their own way makes him wary and yet who else can he trust but the two of them?

"Somehow," Severus drawls coldly, "I find that hard to believe. I know how a Malfoy works. You forget, _young_ Malfoy, I went to school with your father. The way a Malfoy mind works is very Machiavellian. You manipulate rather than persuade. You would have fear first, then love. With such princely teachings, how can you even hope to act selflessly in helping Harry without an ulterior motive?"

"Just because I might have set out in the beginning to use him to help me doesn't mean I did!" Draco cries, looking so earnest and honest that Harry badly wants to believe him. If there is anyone in his life that has yet to betray him in the present, Harry knows, it's Draco. But then there's Severus—who he feels when he gets back his memories—he'll know better than himself.

"It's no worse than what you as his lover and his best friends did to him!" Draco exclaims. "But I didn't, unlike the rest of you! When I was away—I just realized, it came to me as an epiphany… that I didn't want him for what he could do for me… but that I want him for him."

Harry wants to say something profound or understanding, but all he can blurt out is"I need to use the loo."

**TBC**

A/N: If you read, let me know (please). It pretty much goes without saying this chapter was _exhausting_ for me. I know other authors can churn out a better word count than me, but I do try my best each and every week to make things as "right" as they can be in my mind. I won't even bother saying if it's good or not, that's up to you. Anyway, thanks for reviewing (I actually got to the 2nd page of comments and that's a first for me!).

Here's some things I've been wondering what you, the reader, will make of this chapter: Do you think Severus ever loved Harry (proof? from this chapter or previous ones)? Do you think Draco's intentions are really as they say? What do you make of the flashback scenes? And my betas think my snoring Snape was rather interesting. What do you think? Oh and... in general is the anticipation for each chapter building or waning? (I do hope that I'm not boring you guys with how much I've slowed the plot down to get out the dialogue that needs to get out). Also are my characterizations making sense with how I'm building the plot?


	11. Ceasefire

**AND SO LIFE GOES ON…**  
Part of _"The Aevum Series"_  
By Nenya Entwhistle

Thanks so much to my betas, Ziasudra and Lesameschelle! Also I've taken time to answer some FAQs after the A/N. If you have a question, feel free to ask.

Chapter Eleven  
Ceasefire

"_We're sorry, Harry," Hermione whispers, reaching out to him again like she had done before in the past when he refused to take it. He wants to go into her arms, but it's hard knowing what she has done. It's even harder looking Ron in the eyes, Harry reflects, when Ron, unlike Hermione, went along with the whole thing without even trying to help him. "I tried my best but… we were all under an oath. And we did think it best for you to forget all the horrible atrocities in your life. We just—just wanted you to be happy again." _

So they had fabricated a lie, a new life.

"Harry," Ron begins, looking awkward with his pale face and too red hair, "I'm not sorry for what we did because I definitely think your life has been too hard, and I wanted just once for you to have a normal life. I'm sure you don't remember all the times that we've been through, but we have been best friends for the longest time—we go back so far that you're like my brother—and…"

Ron clears his throat and tries again. "And you always used to tell me that you wanted a normal life after Sirius died. How you wished you'd never been in the magical world, then Sirius would have been safe and he wouldn't have died because of you. I… tried to tell you that it wasn't your fault, but it never worked. Remus though helped you a lot through that, but when he too was gone—you sunk even deeper into your depression and I couldn't reach you. No one could.

"Merlin Harry," Ron says, running his hand violently through his hair, "do you know how much it hurt me to see you in such pain and I could do nothing?"

"And he wasn't the only one," Hermione adds in soft voice. "We both stayed up long nights while you locked yourself up in the Room of Requirement, and we were so scared that you'd do something to yourself. You don't understand how useless, what terrible friends we felt like. I—" her voice cracks as she sobs. "I…, I didn't know what to do."

"Neither of us did," Ron murmurs, his voice more in control though his eyes are just as watery as hers. "And after Remus died, you shut us out though we always tried to let you know that we were there for you."

"You were there in body, but you had withdrawn from us," Hermione croaks. "But you had someone that you could turn to. A lover, we always thought, because after two years, you started almost smiling. You almost looked happy, but there was always an uncertainty in your eyes though it slowly vanished the more years that passed. Whoever it was that saved you, we're thankful."

"Yes," Ron agrees. "Very thankful."

Harry doesn't know what to do or to say. Their words, so honest and so earnest, he wants to believe. He wants to open his arms and embraces them both, but still he can't find it in his heart to forgive them entirely. Hermione, he almost can. Ron though… he doesn't know what to do. Ron has been his best friend since forever, and yet Ron should have known even better than Hermione that he is strong and could have faced the reality.

What he wishes for doesn't mean he really wants it. It's only a mere wish, a fantasy, a dream—not a reality. Somehow they made it into one. But whose idea was it? Dumbledore's? Ron's? Or maybe Hermione's? Who's the one that was responsible? That's what he wants to know.

"Who?" Harry asks, trembling and shaking. "Who decided?"

"I did."

Harry snaps around and drops his jaw and cries, "Not you! Not you, not you, please not you…"

"Harry, wake up!" Draco exclaims, both hands on Harry's shoulders, holding him down against a bed, his bed. But how did he get to his bed? His last memory was of white, white tiles and blurring walls. "It's a dream, a nightmare, whatever. Snap out of it!"

Harry wants to say it wasn't a nightmare, though it wasn't a dream either. Not pleasant enough, but he cannot find his voice. His throat is too dry, parched like he had been in a desert too long without water. He opens his mouth and shuts it.

"Severus!" Draco shouts. "Get in here! Harry's woken up and needs the potion!"

What potion? Harry doesn't want a potion. He doesn't, he doesn't, he doesn't.

"He's hyperventilating, Severus!" Draco yells, still holding him down—not letting him be. "Get your bloody arse in here!"

Harry wants to shake his head, but he can't move. He feels too exhausted and yet his body is trembling, shaking, moving out of control and overpowering his fatigue. His eyes finally focus on Draco's concerned face, his pale skin and his anxious eyes. He tries to say no but nothing comes out. _No potion, _he wants to say, _no no no…_

The door flies open and Severus storms in, a vial in hand. He pushes Draco away, but not violently. It's one of urgency instead. They must have stopped fighting, Harry muses, glad but also confused. Hadn't they been bickering when he had passed out? However long that was…

"Open your mouth, Harry," Severus says gently, uncorking the vial.

Harry doesn't. He wants to push the vial away that is pressed against his chapped lips, but he cannot move anything voluntarily. Instead Severus opens his mouth for him and pours the bitter liquid down his throat. Harry gurgles, trying to spit it out, but Severus massages his throat with his fingers and he swallows.

_No, no, no…_ Harry thinks and then stops when the darkness takes him.

_Harsh, cold fingers rub his throat, then latch on, squeezing him—suffocating him. Harry's eyes roll open and he sees Severus, his lover. He wants to open his mouth to say something, but his jaw is slack and he can't. He can't even really move his body, only a fraction of an inch. It's like he's been drugged, but why? _

"Harry," Severus whispers, "you're awake."

Yes, obviously, Harry thinks. He must be if his eyes are open, staring a hole into Severus' being. If he could but whimper, maybe he could let Severus know through pathetic noises that he isn't feeling well. But he can't even do that. He is unable to do anything.

"Open your mouth," Severus commands not unkindly. "You need to take your medicine."

Is that what Severus was doing? Stroking his throat as if he were trying to suffocate him? Trying to get some of the potion down his throat? But why? Is it to heal him or is it to harm him? Harry doesn't know. Is this like the pills he's been taking, something he thinks that'll make him better, but will only make things worse? Is Severus trying to steal his memories away from him again? Isn't once enough?

"If you can't, I'll do it for you."

Harry wants to shake his head, wants to say no, but Severus forces his mouth open—though it's not like he can really resist—and pours a liquid that looks the same color as the pills he's always taken. The taste isn't the same, but why would it be? The gel coating would cover and disguise the taste, and a nagging part of his mind says: it looks the same.

"Now that's a good boy," Severus murmurs, stroking his throat and getting him to swallow. Harry blinks once from the pure shock of having Severus calling him 'good boy.' That isn't like Severus, Harry thinks before he drifts off.

"Don't, don't, don't," Harry mumbles underneath his breath, while twisting and turning under the covers. "Don't do that. I thought you were good. I thought I could trust you. Why? Oh why? Oh Merlin, why?"

_Draco is shaking him, trying to wake him. He feels jostled and lurches, almost falling out of bed if not for Draco. "Harry," Draco murmurs, touching him gently with his hands, "are you all right?" _

"Yes," Harry manages to rasp. "Better."

"That's good," Draco whispers, his hands drifting lightly over Harry's nightshirt. "That's very good." His fingers ghost over Harry's throat not as provocative as it is curious. "I can't wait until you get better." Draco leans over and whispers, "We'll have so much fun, you and I."

Harry's eyes widen when he understands the implication. "What?"

Draco cups Harry's face and caresses it gently. "If you used to be Snape's lover, I'm sure you're a good fuck. But as interested as I am in fucking your arse," Draco murmurs, his fingers tracing Harry's lips, "I'm much keener on what your name will do for me. Severus wasn't wrong, you know, I do want you to reestablish me in the Wizarding World."

"Use," Harry croaks. "Me."

"Yes," Draco says, "yes, you've got it my dumb little Gryffindor. You got it in one. I am using you, though I'll have a lot of fun doing it. Too bad you can't go back to Snape now, having cut all ties with him when he really did feel something for you." Draco's fingers leave Harry's face feeling colder than it did before. "I'm not sure he loves you, but he does feel strongly about you. It could be love," he muses. "After all, what do muggles say? 'There's a thin line between hate and love.' Maybe it really is a thin line, a now nonexistent line, but you, my Harry, chose me." Draco bends his head down and kisses Harry. "Aren't you so happy?"

Harry shoves with all his might, trying to get away from Draco and it works with a surge. He feels someone being pushed away and he hopes it's Draco. He doesn't want that little bastard near him. How could he use him like that when he has begun to trust Draco? But then that only makes sense, Harry thinks with a low moan. It all makes sense because Draco is a Malfoy and that's the way Malfoys are.

"Harry," he hears Draco's low, hoarse voice as if he's in pain, "you're having a nightmare. It's okay."

Harry opens his eyes to the blinding though dim lights. Everything's a blur in front of him that he doesn't even see where Draco is. Probably on the ground somewhere, but how had he had enough power to push the blond away? He still feels weak and helpless—and drugged. Harry bites his lip hard. What the _fuck_ had Severus given him? Was all that his ex-lover had said a lie?

"Where's Severus?" Harry demands in a rasp. "Where is he?"

"I'm here," Severus croaks from a distance that sounds similar from Draco's but in another direction. "My presence has been," he says then pauses and lets out a haggard breath before he starts again, "disturbing you so I've kept away."

"What did you give me?" Harry's not screaming, but he feels like he is almost there. He's so afraid, so mistrusting, so unaware of whom he can trust. Were those visions reality or nightmares? Draco said nightmares, but they had felt so real. "Are you trying to poison my mind again?"

He doesn't hear Severus approach, only the sound of the older man dropping to his knees next to his bedside. When he turns to Severus' direction he can make out an outline of a sallow blob with black circles for eyes and a nose protruding in a blur.

"No," Severus says softly and reaches over for something on the side table, "I'm not." Severus places his glasses into his hands. "_Neither_ is Draco."

Harry puts his frames on and blinks until everything shifts into focus. When had they reached a truce? This is all very strange, very weird when only moments before Harry had heard them shouting at each other, exchanging insults as if there was no tomorrow. It was as if he was… in another time all together.

"We want you to get better," Draco adds.

Harry stares at them in disbelief, not quite comprehending how so much could change in a few hours… or maybe a day, but they were acting like they were almost friends. In his dreams, _his nightmares_, they had been enemies to one another and himself. So why are they so friendly now? He cringes back, trying to shrink into his bed. Are they collaborating against him? Trying to throw him off the mark by acting as allies rather than enemies? Is he supposed to be glad that they've resolved their difficulties and forget that they seemed to hate each other?

_Oh god, oh Merlin, _he thinks, _I can't deal with this but I must. _

"Harry?" Draco murmurs. "You do believe us, don't you?"

Instead of glancing at Draco, Harry looks directly at Severus. He has to know, and Severus better answer. "What did you give me?"

"A potion."

Severus' response infuriates Harry. It wasn't like Severus to deliberately misunderstand his question. Harry knows, staring into those dark eyes, that Severus understood but doesn't want to say anything. The idea, the twinge of doubt that has been building since he was forced to swallow that potion escalates and surges. _How dare he! _

"What potion?" Harry says with a sharpness that reminds him of Severus. "_Just a potion? _Are you sure you're not trying to manipulate my mind into forgetting everything again? How do I know it wasn't you? I only have your word! Your say! Not theirs! Maybe it's you that wanted me to forget. You because you don't want me anymore and this is your way out. Sneaky, clever, sly Slytherin," Harry rasps, "aren't you, Severus, my love?"

"Harry, for Merlin's sake," Draco snaps, "it was a stabilizing potion because your magical aura was going crazy. It was to help you, you bloody git. As much as I hate to say it, Severus did a good thing by giving you that potion. And it's not like I'd let him do anything to harm you! If there's anyone you can trust, Harry, it's me."

But Harry isn't looking at Draco. He stares at Severus, at his lover, daring him to deny or confirm what Draco had said. Why Draco is helping Severus, Harry doesn't know, but that doesn't matter because regardless of Draco's words—if he can even trust him—it's Severus that needs to speak.

"Say something," Harry says with an edge. "Now!"

Dark, familiar eyes bear down on him, sucking him in like a relentless vortex. "I could want you as you are now."

Harry hears Draco's gasp, but he doesn't turn. He keeps his gaze locked onto Severus'. Their eyes, black against green, are dueling. Harry wonders if it used to be this way or if this is something new instead.

"I thought you said you didn't want him!" Draco exclaims furiously. "I thought you said this wasn't the Harry that you feel anything for! I thought… I thought _he would be mine." _

Neither Harry nor Severus answer. Instead Severus says, "Your memories will return, Harry, because your magic is coming back." The older man pauses and steps forward out of the shadows. "Soon you'll be yourself again."

"But he won't!" Draco shouts, and Harry finally looks away from Severus. "He won't be the same because he's not that Harry anymore. Are you, Harry?" Draco says earnestly, his silver eyes filled with an emotion that is heated and not chilled. "You're different and you don't hate me anymore, and unlike him," he spits, "I could love you."

That almost sounds normal, like the Draco Harry knows now. Actually he has the feeling it is rather like the Draco he knew before too, though this one doesn't hate him anymore. And well, Harry glances back to Severus, this man—his former lover—what to do about him? Actually, Harry's eyes shift briefly to Draco and then anywhere but at the two of them, what to make of both of them?

He can still feel his anger simmering underneath the surface, eager to leap up, grab a hold of him and unleash its fury on anything, anyone in its path. Harry is sick and tired of hearing them bicker over him. He doesn't need that, what he needs are his memories and magic. This frustration that he feels building inside him makes him want to latch onto his rage, wrap it around him, and let it comfort him. Let it scream at Draco and Severus, especially at Severus. Harry can't really blame Draco; Draco didn't know. But Severus he can blame and even if Severus has done a good thing—many good things—it was not enough.

"Harry?" Draco says, moving toward him and reaching out with his hand.

Before Draco could touch him, Harry slaps his hand away because he doesn't want to be touched by him after that nightmare. And Harry suddenly feels what Severus said: that his magic is coming back. He feels that if he wants to, he can use his innate power to push his magic out and force Draco away. Something tells him this isn't normal or common. But then, when has he ever been normal?

"What's wrong?" Draco asks. "Harry?"

"SHUT UP!" Harry screams, letting his fury take over, letting it rush out though he kept the power he felt at his fingers harnessed. "Don't talk! Don't speak! Don't say anything at all. Do you understand me? I need—"

"Draco has never been one to keep his mouth shut," Severus muses aloud with a wry tone. "He thinks that everything that comes out of his mouth is what he wants it to be. He doesn't ever think, he just—"

"YOU TOO!" Harry roars, almost letting his magic out—almost losing it enough to slam Severus against the wall but he suppresses it. He could kill both of them if he wanted, he thinks, even without his wand… He snaps his head toward Severus and demands, "Where's my wand?"

Severus' eyes study him impassively for a moment before he says, "Your irrational anger reminds me of your immature 5th year self, and I do not speak to children of matters of importance."

"Me, a child?" Harry cries, laughing hard in a crazy, wild way. "Me? No," he says, shaking his head and lifting his hands to point at both Draco and Severus, "not me. It's you two that have been acting like children." It's when he says it aloud that he realizes that he's been thinking this deep inside, so far into the abyss that he can't even recall having thought it. But he does feel it now, feels it even stronger when he considers the way they bickered and argued in front of him such a short time ago.

"Immature, self-consumed children who only considered what you wanted instead of me!" Harry shouts, his face hot and his heart pounding. "Did you ever consider my feelings when you were talking about me as if I were a piece of meat to be owned and bartered with words between you two? I don't know why I sat there, crouched there and listened to it. Why I even wanted to help you!" Harry screams, jabbing his finger in Severus' direction. "When _you_ never helped me!"

Severus goes pale. His sallow skin washes out, turning it into an even more sickly color. It's such an odd look for him that Harry can almost believe again that maybe Severus did want to help him, but if he did, wouldn't he have done more? There had to be a way around the spell, _hell_ even Draco was a way around the spell since he wasn't under the oath! Had Severus or Hermione ever thought of that?

"Why didn't you do more?" Harry demands, pointing an accusing finger at Severus. "Why?"

"The oath."

"You said it was to protect me and my happiness!" Harry cries. "But did you ever think of how miserable I was, not knowing who I was? I used to cry at night in my bed all alone, wondering who the fuck I was because I couldn't remember a bloody shitty thing about my life. Even these bad memories, of you, of my life, of everything are nothing compared to not knowing." Harry glances toward Draco. "You could have found a way to tell me."

"But I couldn't!" Severus snarls. "I was specifically under oath not to mention anything to you or anyone else." Severus looks meaningfully to Harry. "And despite my every doubt you'd be unhappy not knowing who you were, from everything that I could see—when I saw you—you did seem to be happy, Harry."

"But I wasn't." Harry almost wants to wallow in his thoughts, about how lost and depressed he felt when he had no idea who he was. It was as if no one understood what he was going through at the time. It was as if he was alone. Until Hermione gave him a purpose in his life, all he had been doing was crying in his room and then putting on a brave face whenever his friends visited. "I wasn't."

"I…" Severus begins and stops. "I'm sorry."

Harry looks at Severus, looks into those dark eyes and sees a true apology in them. He tries to see if it's just a clever manipulation, but he can't imagine Severus saying sorry for show. He knows the man too well, even if he doesn't quite remember knowing the man. The dark eyes seem to penetrate into his being, studying him as much as he is trying to study Severus.

"The wand," Draco says, interrupting the momentary silence. "Harry's wand. Where is it, Severus?"

Severus shifts his eyes to Draco and narrows them. "The matter does not concern you."

"But it concerns Harry," Draco responds nonchalantly. "And he did ask you." He turns to Harry and smiles a little. "You do want to know, don't you?"

The smile is more bewildering than it is comforting, if it was supposed to be. Harry isn't sure though. It's too small, too sly-like to be reassuring. Maybe it's meant to be something else, but what? Harry bites the inside of his mouth. If only he could sense things, know stuff about Draco like he just does for Severus.

"I do," Harry states firmly, looking from Draco to Severus. "Draco's right. Where is it?"

For a moment, Harry thinks Severus is going to evade the question again but the older man snaps instead, "Who do you think has it?"

The tone is familiar, and it washes over Harry like a tidal wave. The feelings, Harry realizes, the sensation that he knows Severus is only getting stronger. Severus is right then. His memories will return with his magic. But how long? Will it be like the flashbacks he had? And if so… were the nightmares reality then? But the Draco one doesn't make sense, as it couldn't happen yet. Draco said himself that he hadn't seen Harry in a long time. Though the other one about Severus could be. It isn't all that sinister, when Harry thinks about it. It just seems bad when…

"Harry," Severus says sharply, "do not tell me you do not know whom I speak of."

Harry snaps out of his thoughts and stares at Severus. He doesn't even need to think of an answer. Only one makes sense. "Albus."

"Yes," Severus agrees. "Albus."

"I want it back," Harry declares. "I want my life back."

"Then," Severus begins with a far from pleasant look on his face, "you must be ready to face them."

"What? Them?" Harry looks at Severus with no comprehension. What is he talking about? Why would he have to face anyone but Albus? Unless…

Severus opens his mouth to speak, but Draco beats him to it. "They know, Harry. They found out the day after you collapsed in the bathroom."

"Today then," Harry says, looking toward Draco who shakes his head. "Yesterday?"

"No," Severus says and Draco echoes. Severus glares at Draco before continuing: "You have been out for a week, Harry. They found out the Friday when you didn't show up for the usual get together."

"Oh Merlin," Harry cries, dropping his face down into his hands. A week has gone by, an entire week when he thought it had only been a day or two. How could time pass that fast? Is that why then… Harry jerks his face up and stares at the wall because it's easier. "Is that why you two are getting along better?" he asks sharply. Now it starts to make sense, how the two of them could go from hating each other to actually getting along if that much time had gone by. But still… "What happened then? What made you two be civil to each other?"

"Time helps," Draco admits, "and the fact that your friends came down on us like we were lepers contaminating you also pushed us into more friendly territory with each other. As much as I might dislike Severus, he is a far lesser evil than Granger or Weasley. You might want to consider your friends more carefully, Harry, as they're the ones that helped put you into this situation. If I were you, I'd run away with me and forget they ever existed. We could go anywhere, you know, see extraordinary places—magical places. You and I."

"And what would be the point of that?" Severus inquires piercingly. "He's already been forced to run from his true life, why would he ever want to run voluntarily from it when he has a chance to regain it? Despite what those ignorant prejudiced idiots think of the Dark Arts, there is nothing for him to be ashamed of. _Nothing!_"

Draco snorts and before he can say anything that will dissolve the civility between the two of them, Harry says, "He's right. I need to face them."

"If you're sure," Draco says, "I won't stop you."

"As if you could," Severus sneers, "stop him."

"You are the most—!"

"SHUT IT!" Harry yells. "Stop it! I can't think with you two arguing, and I need to. Either be quiet or get out."

"I'm staying," Severus declares.

"And so am I."

**TBC**

A/N: I'm sorry that this is late, but I've been doing crappy in school so... it goes without saying I've got to crack down and open the books more. Oh and please keep reviewing if you like this story (or if you don't like it, why?) FAQ's are below!

Here's some questions if you have no idea what to say: (1) Why the dream about Harry's friends? (2) What do the nightmares about SS and DM mean? (3) Why do you think Draco thought Severus ceded Harry to him? (Think about why Draco's always there and why Severus isn't, there's an easy answer and a hard one). (4) Harry's anger... what will come of that? (5) And how do you think Harry will react to his friends? And you can always answer more than the questions, these are the very big points, but there also other important ones.

* * *

**F.A.Q.**

1. What happens next?  
_Read and find out!_

2. How old is Teddy?  
_About 7-9 years old. _

3. Is Teddy somehow Harry's son?  
_No._

4. Are Teddy's Aunt and Uncle, Harry's or is it all just a coincidence?  
_Well their names are similar, but they are not Harry's relative. I think Patricia is far nicer than Petunia. _

5. Can Harry have both Draco and Severus?  
_I think neither Draco nor Severus would like this idea, considering their similar kind of personality._

6. Did Severus love Harry ever?  
_A better question is what would you define love to be? I've answered how Severus feels about Harry already, especially in flashbacks in Chapter 9-10. It's up to you how you wish to interpret it. If you keep an open mind, you can definitely see the answer._

7. Will Harry be able to handle his memories?  
_You will have to read and find out ;-). _

8. What exactly happened to Lupin?  
_You need to read the prequel, "Life is a Matter of Living," which is in my story listings. It explains what happened to Lupin. And yes, Harry will have memories of Lupin._

I did a really quick scanning of questions, and as always I appreciate your all reviews, especially **CannonFodder**, **ura-hd**, and **milasarin **who were excellent in their analysis and really gave me and my betas stuff to think about (you guys went the extra mile)! If you have any questions, ask and I'll try to answer to the best of my ability. Thanks!


	12. Ebbing Tide

**AND SO LIFE GOES ON…  
**part of _"The Aevum Series"_  
by Nenya Entwhistle

Thanks to my fabulous betas, Lesameschelle and Ziasudra.

Chapter Twelve  
Ebb Tide

Harry doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know how to handle everything, his memories, or his magic—or his life. Everything's a mess and he doesn't know what to _fucking_ do about it. He doesn't, and if he's supposed to—he still doesn't.

So he goes back to his daily routine, with some modifications of course. Because his magic has been volatile and his memories incapacitating, he asks Severus to give him something that will calm him down, drug him into a state where he won't be so emotional, where he doesn't feel so much.

Severus doesn't say anything, but gives him a Calming Draught. When Harry drinks it, he feels light and less burdened, detached from everything, even from the memories that are whirling around and compressing into his being. He can think now, without zoning out. He's here and not there. He's solid, grounded for now.

"Are you sure about this?" Draco asks, handing Harry his keys and wallet.

"Yes," Harry says, pausing to look at both men. "I need to do something else."

"But you also need to be protected," Severus says sharply, folding his arms with disapproval though he does nothing to stop Harry. His critical tone is enough to make Harry cringe, though it does not change his mind.

Harry knows he has to get out of the house, and besides, he's fine. He is as well as he has been the past two weeks. He's getting his memories back and if anything, he's finally going to be whole and real again. He won't be a fake, partial Harry anymore. He'll be as much himself as he ever was.

"From what?" Harry asks softly. "From my friends, from Albus?"

"Yes!" Severus exclaims, his eyes darkening. "Yes from them. They will find you should you leave, and they will harass you and they might perform that spell on you again. Do you want to risk that?"

"Severus is right," Draco adds, swallowing with difficulty. "They did it once."

"Albus did it once," Harry corrects. "Not my friends, not Ron, not Hermione, not the rest of them."

"But they allowed it," Draco whispers.

"And they knew," Severus includes. "And they did nothing to stop it." He grabs Harry's sleeve. "You don't think they'll let you remember, do you? They're afraid of you Harry, you must know that. And considering who they are… they have every right to be scared of what you are. They are ignorant and closed-minded, but that is the way they are and you cannot hope to change that."

"You cannot protect me forever," Harry says, pulling his arm from Severus' grasp. "It's been more than a week now. It's Monday, and I should go to the shelter. Despite everything they've taken from me, all that I've lost, there is one thing I've gained." Harry smiles a little. "The children there, they need me like I needed them. I was lost too, like them, but now that I'm finding myself—I want to help them even more. To do that, I must go back and I must not let them think I've abandoned them, because a lot of them have been abandoned by family members. And some of them probably will think I've left them. I can't do that to them, especially not to Teddy."

Harry's smile wanes and saddens. "And it's not the end of the world should I see my friends or Albus. I have to confront them sometime, and the reprieve you two have given me by casting an obscuring spell on my apartment has helped buy me time. I thank you for that, but I don't need that kind of help anymore. Maybe I should have confronted them on Friday when they came by, but I didn't. Now if they come, I will. I must. You understand, don't you? I've faced my past, Severus, in my mind, but I need to do it in person too."

Severus purses his lips and nods once. "So be it, if that would make you happy."

_"Harry, you are happy, aren't you?" Hermione asks him._

_He looks at her, unsure of what to say because he doesn't really know. Sometimes, late in the night when he's alone and unsure of exactly who he is—he would get so sad that he feels like nothing could fill the void in him. But when he's at the shelter, with the kids… he remembers why life is worth living._

_"You aren't unhappy, right?" _

_He looks at her, really looks at her and sees the worry etched into her face. He thinks about what she had been rambling on when they went to the shelter the first day, how she was hoping he'd finally find a place where he'd be comfortable and happy. Why is his happiness so important to her? It's strange and comforting that she cares so much. It's always as if… as if... she needs him to be happy for her own peace of mind._

_What a good friend she is, he reflects. She wants him to be happy so badly that he wants to be happy for her. He remembers the time when he's with the children, with Teddy, and it's not so hard to say, "No, I'm happy. Don't worry about me." _

"I need to confront them," Harry declared. "I need to, I need to," he chanted. He fidgeted with his hands, trying to dispel some of his nervous energy. It wasn't working though. Nothing was. He was on edge, had been ever since his friends had called and said they were coming over. "But…"

"But what?" Draco inquired, looking at him with gentle eyes. "What, Harry?"

Harry wondered as he often does, what he will think of Draco when all his memories return. Will he still look at Draco for reassurance and with trust when he recalls their schooldays when they were enemies? He almost dreaded to remember them, much as he shuddered when he remembered some less than pleasant aspects of his past. But he had to, he reminded himself, he needed to.

"But I'm scared. I'm…"

It was hard for Harry to admit this, admit that he was frightened. He guessed that it was just a part of who he is, not being able to admit anything. He remembered something Hermione had said a long time ago: _"You know, you don't have to keep everything inside of you. It helps to talk about things, that's why we're here, to help you." _

Was that the reason why they did this to him? Because he wouldn't talk? Wouldn't tell them his problems? Sinking so far into his depression that he was not himself anymore? Changing so much that they were afraid of who he was?

"You're what?"

"I don't know," he whispered. "I don't."

Draco slid his hand over and tentatively touched Harry. This time Harry managed not to flinch and even bumped his hand against Draco's. "It's all right to be afraid," Draco said, his eyes reflecting Harry's face, submerged in grey. "I felt the same way when my father was sentenced to Azkaban, afraid of what it would do to my mother."

"And?"

"And you have to get over it and move on, or it'll drive you crazy like it did to my mother," Draco murmured. "If only she had been able to let go, to accept her sadness, and not let it rule her life—she would have been all right. It's hard though," he remarked, squeezing Harry's hand, "because it's never easy. But if you ever need someone that isn't connected to this," he said, his eyes drifting to the door where Severus had left early this morning to deal with the others, "I'm here."

"YOU'RE BACK!" Teddy exclaims and launches himself at Harry. "You're back! Oh god, you're really, really back and it's not just Becky saying you'll be back, but you're really, really back and it's not a lie at all. Not like the stuff that Uncle is always telling Aunt Pat when he's trying to get her off his back. I thought Becky was just saying things like that, to get me off her back and that you really weren't coming back because—because you didn't want us anymore."

His arse hurts, where he landed on it, but his heart aches even more. Harry wraps his arms around Teddy tightly and hugs him fiercely. "No, why would you ever think that? Of course I want to be here with you guys," Harry says, looking up and smiling at the other kids that are crowded around him. "What could be better than this?"

"Then where were you?" Teddy asks in an accusing voice, pulling away and yet clenching Harry's shirt. "Where were you when you should have been here? Huh? Why were you gone?"

"Yeah!" Vera adds.

Racquel prods him and says, "We thought you were just like the others that come and go and never come back again."

Harry sighs and gestures with his hands for the two girls to come close. "Haven't I proven by coming every day for more than two years that this is the place that I want to be? That I am not like the others?"

"Then why were you gone?" Teddy demands. "Why, Harry?"

Harry lowers his eyes and drops his head onto Teddy's shoulder in the way the boy always does when things become too much of a burden. "My past came back to haunt me. Life screwed up and then I got my memories back. It's been shitty since then."

"Potter! Language!" Becky shouts, though her smile does little to reinforce her words. "And do get inside. Don't you think you've spent enough time out of these doors?"

Teddy hops off while Harry grins and then groans as he gets up. He hobbles along like an old man until he adjusts to the pain. He walks up the steps to the Eastside Children's Shelter and gives Becky a hug. "I'm sorry."

She rolls her eyes and echoes the sentiment of every child in the nearby perimeter, "I'd rather have the story than the apology."

_"I'm sorry, Harry," Ron whispers, brushing back Harry's hair until his unusual scar is revealed. Harry remembers feeling Ron trace his scar briefly before drawing his hand away. Harry wants to open his eyes, wants to tell Ron that he's fine—that he had stupidly overstressed his body—that everything is good. Okay. "I'm so sorry."_

_What was he sorry about? He thinks fuzzily. There's nothing for Ron to be sorry about. Harry struggles and fights, but he feels himself losing. It really wasn't Ron's fault that Harry had overworked himself. It was his fault, all his, so why is Ron blaming himself?_

_"I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have, but..." Harry feels his mind drifting away like Ron's words. "Oh Harry, I just wanted the…" _

_And he's out. _

"They're here," Severus had declared three days before.

Harry felt the knots in his stomach—the whirling butterflies—clench and tighten. He thought he was okay. He thought he was ready, but he was wrong. He wasn't ready, he couldn't face them. What had he been thinking when he said to just let them come? Severus was right, he really wasn't ready. It was much too soon, and he needed more time to think, to settle, to be.

"Harry," Severus said sharply, dragging Harry's attention back to the older man, "they're waiting for you."

Harry turned panicked eyes toward Draco, who smiled reassuringly. "It'll be all right."

How could Draco know? Harry thought unkindly. It wasn't as if Draco had ever been betrayed. It wasn't as if Draco had been living a lie for the past four years. It wasn't as if Draco had to face all his past once more! _No!_ All Draco had was pettiness, cruelty, banishment, and ostracism. He wasn't wanted, but he'd never been forced to make a paradigm shift in his life, to have what he once knew be proven to be nothing more than a fabricated lie. It was—remarkable and unbelievable. How could they? And how could he see them?

"How would you know?" Harry snapped. "How could you even begin to know what I'm going through? It's not as if you ever had—"

Draco's hand cracked against Harry's cheek. Harry was too stunned to do anything but stare at Draco, watch his arm get seized by Severus and then dropped. "I don't have to put up with your shit," Draco warned in a low voice. "But I understand where it's coming from. You're angry at _them_," Draco spat out, his eyes glaring at the door. "You should be taking it out on them, not me. Or even Severus. I know how you've look at him, shrink away from him, but the potion wasn't anything sinister. You can trust him, and you know you can trust me.

"I won't lie to you, Harry."

"No," Severus sneered, "Draco won't lie, he'll only twist the truth around to suit his own purpose, and it's up to you whether to believe him or not. Regardless, you have to make up your mind, Harry. Do you or do you not want to see your friends?"

Harry's eyes shifted from Draco to Severus in a pendulum-like movement until he finally decided it was easier to stare down at his hands. It was just easier, he thought, looking at the complicated lines blending and mixing, diverging and converging. They were so chaotic, the lines on his palms, but still much less than his life. At least this he can grasp, he reflected as he clenched his fists. His hands weren't slipping out of control like his life was.

"If I said no?" Harry asked. "What then?"

"Then we perform another _Obscuring Spell_," Draco remarked calmly, looking toward Severus, who nodded once. "Severus and I have been maintaining a spell that keeps this location impermeable to wizards or muggles. The spell has been lowered so they can find us, but if you say you aren't ready then we will redo the spell. It's up to you, and I would think carefully about it. Can you trust your friends, Harry? Really trust them?"

The problem was, Harry didn't know. Could he? Or could he not? His dream made him think he could, but it was just a dream. Severus had confirmed he had only regained and lost his memories once. And it made sense that Harry wouldn't be having a flashback whenever he was knocked out. It wasn't the same as a flashback, which needed something—even if it was a small thing, an obscure thing—as a trigger.

"We need an answer Harry," Severus stated in a clipped tone. "They'll be here in any minute."

Harry swallowed hard. "I'm not ready."

"Harry?" Becky calls, knocking on his opened door. "Um... there are people here to see you and—err, I forgot to catch their names. I know I've met this woman before, but…"

Harry looks up from the chess game he's playing with Teddy and sees Hermione and Ron standing behind Becky, their faces tense and anxious. "Thanks, Becky," he answers with a kind smile. "Everyone knows you have a terrible memory."

Becky scowls at him and if she had been standing near anything she could grab, he's sure he would be ducking. "You are such a brat at times," she mutters and rolls her eyes. She turns to Hermione and Ron and smiles sweetly. "Don't listen to anything he says about me, everything's false. He likes to make up wild stories. Just ignore him," she says and throws him a glare out of the corner of her eyes. "So Harry, would you like to meet with them here in your office or go to the café down the block?"

Harry gazes toward Ron and Hermione, locking eye contact with the latter and her eyes settle on the room. He nods once, almost imperceptibly, and says, "No, we'll stay here. If you could make sure we aren't disturbed, that'd be great."

"Come on Teddy," Becky urges, "let's leave Harry alone with his grownup friends."

Teddy stands up and puts the knight down on a white square three spaces from Harry's king. "Check."

Harry lets out an audible groan. "Great, he's going to beat me again," he mutters affectionately, reaching out and ruffling Teddy's hair. "You're just too good, too good for me anyway, but Ron here," Harry remarks, looking toward his best friend, "would give you a run for your money. He's brilliant."

Shifting his gaze toward Ron, Teddy studies the redhead with a curiously tilted head. "Have you ever lost to him?" Teddy asks, pointing at Harry. "At all?"

"Nope," Ron responds. "Not once."

Teddy grins. "Me too." Teddy turns around and grins impishly. "You suck."

Harry reaches out and pinches Teddy's nose. "Watch your mouth, young man, or else there will be no more demolishing me in chess anymore. There's only so much my fragile ego can take."

Teddy laughs and leans slightly toward Harry, saying, "In two more moves I'll have you in checkmate."

Looking at Ron, who nods in confirmation, Harry sighs. "I guess we'll have to start a new game then, eh?"

Teddy nods in all seriousness. "We will unless…" he remarks, looking at Ron, "he'd like to play."

"Maybe some other day," Harry replies quickly, "when there's more time."

"All right," Teddy agrees. "We'll probably only have enough time for you to lose one more time before I'll have to leave."

"Come on Teddy," Becky states in a more urgent tone. "The faster we go, the faster you can get back to whipping his sorry arse."

"Becky!" Harry exclaims in a highly scandalized voice. "Language!"

"Oh shut it, Potter!"

Becky shoos Teddy out of the room and clicks the door close politely after them. It leaves Harry staring at Hermione and Ron with a less than certain face, which matches the uncertainty he sees in their own expressions. Their eyes, he notes, are rimmed white as if they're scared of how he'll react, if he'll blow up. He supposes they have a good reason to be like this. After all, it has happened once. And he does have a right to explode. But this time… this time he wants things to be different.

"I knew you two would find me," Harry remarks, gesturing to the two child-size chairs in his office. "And I've been expecting you."

"I've tried enough times already!" Harry cried out in frustration, gripping the wand so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. "And absolutely nothing's happened! It's not your wand or Draco's! It's me. Me," Harry whispered in anguish. "My magic is just not working."

"It is working!" Severus snapped. "How could it not when you've thrown Draco and me repeatedly away from you when you wanted us far away? You have magic, you must have it if you've been performing the feats of accidental magic that you've been doing!" Severus reached out and grabbed Harry by the shoulders and shook him deliberately. "Once we retrieve your wand from Albus' possession, you will be fully capable of using it. You've always had a great deal of magic, Harry, and such magic requires a special wand with a special core that is as rare as you are. The core of your wand isn't anything mundane like a unicorn hair or dragon heartstring. It comes from a phoenix and they are _the_ rarest of magical creatures.

"Your wand is special and so are you, and it only makes sense that unless you have your wand, your magic can't be controlled when you have not utilized it for the longest time. But it'll be under your control, and if you can master it with my wand or Draco's," Severus remarked, glancing briefly toward the younger Slytherin, "then I'm sure your wand control with your own will be impeccable. Would you like to give it another shot, or are you giving up?"

Harry gritted his teeth together and nodded once fiercely. "What spell should I try this time?"

"How about a _Summoning Charm?_" Draco suggested where he stood in the far corner of the room. "I remember you once used it in your 4th year to bring your Firebolt to you, and it was… I have to admit, rather brilliant, even though you were stupid back then."

_"Remedial Potions again, Potter?" Draco sneers. "My, my, the Boy Who Lived might be Albus Dumbledore's precious protégé, but you are rather on the dim side aren't you? I mean, Potions, a precise and orderly subject, and you're failing it? How dense are you? It's a wonder that Snape doesn't kick your sorry arse out of his class. I wonder what Dumbledore must be bribing him with to keep you in there. Maybe—"_

_Merlin, he hates the way that Draco always manages to get under his skin. It makes him feel uncomfortable, especially with the way that Draco's eyes always seem to be staring at him, studying him to catch whatever little mistake he makes to ridicule him with at the first opportunity. Doesn't the bloody Slytherin have anything better to do than watch him all the sodding time? Get a fucking life!_

_"Fuck off, Malfoy!"_

_"I never thought such crude language would ever grace precious Potter's lips," Draco murmurs sinisterly, his eyes hungry. For what though? His blood, like what his father wanted? And Voldemort? Harry clenches his fists at his sides. Draco might as well join the bloody party line. "What would your fans think, Potter? If they knew you wanted me to, what was it again? 'Fuck off?' Hmm?"_

_"Damn you, Malfoy!"_

_"Is that the best you can do?"_

_No, the best he could do is walk away and leave Draco standing there, staring at his back. _

"Have a seat," Harry says.

Ron and Hermione look at each other before taking a seat. Harry laughs as he sees his friends scrunched into weird positions, with their knees stuck in the air, sitting in chairs way too small for them. Ron looks alarmed, Harry notes, while Hermione looks worried. Is Ron startled by his reaction? Hermione anxious about his sanity? How kind of them.

"You know you could have done an Enlargement Charm on the chairs before you sat down," Harry remarks, taking a seat behind his desk table. "It's okay to do magic in front of me."

They both rise. Ron holds out his arm and his wand slides into his hand. He smiles with more uncertainty than surety and waves his wand, muttering, "_Engorgio!_"

Immediately the chairs grow into the proper size for an adult to sit in. They sit down again and stare at each other for a moment in silence before Hermione says, "We're sorry, Harry. We're so very sorry." She looks at Ron briefly before turning back to Harry. "We know what we did was wrong, but we thought you were happy. But… I should have seen that you couldn't be you without your magic, without knowing about the magical world, and without your memories. I—"

"We did what we thought was best," Ron adds. "You lost it before, and we thought—we thought that if you forgot everything it could go back to the way things were when you were starting to smile again, really smile like you used to before Remus died. You don't remember, but you were so sad Harry, so incredibly depressed that it was painful to watch you torment yourself over something that wasn't your fault. Even though years went by, you still looked like you were lost without him."

Had he really been though?—Harry wonders—uncertain of what to think. Could he really have been lost when he was supposedly in a relationship with Severus? Unless there had been no love between them, and that was always a possibility. And yet, Harry stares down at his hands, not able to look at his friends, he did think there was something between him and Severus, but he's not sure what. Is it love or is it just a need, a simple lust?

"Harry?" Hermione says, leaning forward almost out of her chair. "We're sorry for what we've done, and we hope that one day you'll be able to forgive us. I don't know what to say to you. I don't know what I was thinking when I agreed to keep your former life a secret from you. We thought we were doing what was best, thinking you were much weaker than you are. It's silly of us to think that, that you weren't strong enough just because you gave into your grief like any logical human being would!"

She collapses back into her chair, deflated. "I would have done the same in your circumstance, I can see that now. But saying that doesn't change the fact I did what I shouldn't have, and I'm sorry for it. And as much as you probably hate us now, please… please trust that we will always be your friends until the end. We won't let you go, Harry, even if you let go."

Harry lifts his eyes up and stares into her watery eyes. "I don't hate you," he whispers and turns to Ron. "Or you."

Ron's face, far too colorless for him, blanches a little in relief. "Harry… I—I don't know what to say. I suppose Hermione's said it best, and she's always been better at words than me. But you do know what she says goes for both of us, don't you? We'll always be there for you even if you don't want us there. And you can trust us. And maybe—things can go back to the way they were?"

Harry sighs and leans back into his chair. "Things can't ever be the same again."

"Why not?" Ron cries. "Why?"

"Because even though I can forgive you, it doesn't mean I can just forget about what you two did, what the rest of my friends did, and what Albus Dumbledore did. But at least I'm trying to understand that you all thought you were doing the best for me even if it was all a huge mistake." Harry takes a breath. "You will need to give me time, and keep Albus away from me." He aims a fierce gaze at both of them. "I don't want to see him until I'm ready. Keep him and his plotting away from me. I don't care what he says, that it was in my best interest or because he was protecting me, I don't want to see him. I might never want to see him, and right now I'm not ready to deal with it. I…

"I was almost not ready to see you guys, but," Harry remarks, raising his arms and gesturing to the room around them, "this place reminds me that I have to move on, like these kids are doing. They're strong, despite bad family situations and difficulties that they didn't ask for. If they can survive through their lives at their age, then I can deal with the betrayal of my best friends." He smiles a little. "After all, I'm not a child anymore, am I?"

"No," Hermione says, "you definitely aren't."

**TBC**

A/N: If you could take the time to review, that would be nice. This chapter's on time because my betas are wonderful, even though I had a mental breakdown a few days ago. I just came to the conclusion I can't seem to write anything very well. Nothing I can do but hope I can improve. Thanks for reading.

* * *

**F.A.Q.**

1. Is the pairing really Harry/Snape?  
_There is no pairing decided yet. It will be decided in the next chapter or two._

2. Were the dreams/nightmares really memories?  
_No they were what I said they were. Draco and Severus knew because of mumbling and you can't really have "flashbacks" when you're not conscious of it. It's also explained in this chapter._

3. Do I have a Yahoo!group:  
_I shut it down yesterday because there weren't any discussions._

4. Did Albus know about the couple?  
_No one knew about the couple, as only Snape could tell and he wasn't about to. Albus might be able to guess at it but he has no confirmation of it._

5. Should Harry forgive his friends?  
_Well in this chapter he mostly forgave them, but part of forgiving is forgetting which Harry says he can't do at this time._

6. Who carries the most blame?  
_It depends on what you think of the character, but I think from the readers' opinions everyone says Albus carries the most blame._

7. Is it Albus who made them swear the oath?  
_Yes. The oath was to "uphold Harry's happiness," and not to mention anything that would make him unhappy. Regardless, Harry was going to be unhappy learning what they did and a little happy with the life he had. It's a situation that's hard to judge black or white. What Severus says in chapter 7 is from his POV, so you have to consider it in that context. What he thinks makes Harry happy isn't necessarily what makes Harry happy and same with the friends. Albus has a way with words and making oaths stick unless they mention a way around it, which Harry has when he realizes the truth from Draco._

8. Did Snape make the final decision about _obliviating _Harry?  
_No._


	13. Moving On

**AND SO LIFE GOES ON…  
**part of _"The Aevum Series"_  
by Nenya Entwhistle

Thanks to my fabulous betas, Lesameschelle and Ziasudra.

Chapter Thirteen  
Moving On

"Harry, can I ask you a question?" Teddy asked.

Harry looked at him and grinned. "Of course you can." He placed his pawn on a white square. "What's on your mind?"

"It's about your friends."

Harry watched Teddy moved his black knight three spaces to capture his pawn. "What about them?" Harry asked carefully, not really sure what Teddy was going after. Or what he was thinking. Either way, he didn't think it was good because Teddy was frowning and not concentrating. It didn't take Teddy much thought to beat him, Harry thought with a wince. He was pretty pathetic at chess, though it could just be that Teddy was very, very good.

"I like Hermione."

Harry smiled and moved his bishop to a black space. "That's not a question."

"I know." Teddy grabbed his own bishop and moved it next to Harry's. "I don't know what I think about Ron."

"How much of the conversation did you overhear?" Harry asked bluntly, thinking it best just to get everything out in the open. He knew all too well how things went if they were kept secret. Secrecy just grew and grew until it suffocated what it was supposed to save.

"I didn't intend to hear it," Teddy whispered, staring hard at the board. "I just heard it for some reason."

Harry wondered if there was some sort of _Listening Charm_ that could be cast with accidental magic now that he realized there were a lot of extraordinary things about Teddy that could be attributed to magic. Some of the weird things that happened in the shelter when Teddy was around, they must have been magic and not flukes. The first thing that he remembered was how sometimes Teddy hissed, "_Yesss…_" or how things changed mysteriously after he had been there. No wonder, Harry reflected, he had instinctively gravitated to Teddy. They were much more alike than they knew.

"It's okay," Harry said because it was. He really didn't mind having Teddy listening in. He trusted Teddy as much as he trusted anyone. "What did you want to ask me?"

"Magic, it's real, isn't it?" Teddy said in a burst. "I could hear the spells and you said something about an _Enlargement Charm_. Then your friend, Ron, said something weird like it. And I do stuff that's weird and unexplainable, but it's not because I'm a freak—is it? It's because of magic. Magic's real. And you're just like me…"

There was desperation in Teddy's voice to belong and to be something that wasn't anything like the freak his Uncle said he was. Harry wanted to tell him that everything was okay, and that magic was okay, but he wasn't so sure himself. Was magic okay when it could be used to steal someone's memories? To alter someone's life? To make what he thought was real all one elaborate lie?

"Harry?" Teddy cried. "You are like me, aren't you?"

"Yes," Harry said. "I am."

"And magic is real?"

Harry nodded. "It's real."

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

Teddy raised his eyes away from the chess pieces. "How could you forgive them?"

At 6:00, Harry goes home. He rides the train back and gets off at his stop. He walks a few blocks until he reaches his flat. He pauses when he arrives at the door, wondering if he should go in. He doesn't really feel like dealing with either Severus or Draco. He doesn't know what to do about them, knowing they are expecting an answer from him. They want him to choose, but he can't.

He turns around and puts his back against the wall, sliding down to his bottom. He tucks his legs underneath his arms and leans his chin against his crossed arms. He stares at the gray floor and wonders if it might have been better if he never knew any of this at all. But then… he'd be lost. And yet—is it so good to be found?

Harry opened up his eyes and groaned, the light streaming through the blinds was far too bright. He grabbed his glasses off the stand next to his bed and put them on. He focused his eyes on the clock that said 7:30. It was way too early to be up. It wasn't as if he had anything to do. It was Sunday, even the shelter wasn't open. Harry sighed and then held his breath when he heard familiar voices talking softly amongst themselves just outside his room.

"I think he should go away," Draco stated firmly.

"Haven't you learned from your mistakes yet, Draco?" Severus snapped. "Running away doesn't solve problems, it exacerbates them."

"Sometimes you just need to get away from things, away from your problems."

"Perhaps, but this time it would be a mistake."

Harry heard Draco laugh harshly. "You're not referring to Harry, are you?"

It wasn't hard to imagine the intensity of Severus' eyes knowing he would be looking at Draco, seeing through him. "Don't you think you've run long enough?"

"What choice do I have?" Draco shouted more than questioned. "I couldn't stay in the Wizarding World, you know better than anyone that I couldn't." He paused, the silence unnerving. What was Draco doing? Harry wished he knew. "I don't even know how you managed to stay, spy as you are. Don't people shout and send you Howlers that deride your name and family? How can you stand it? The despicable and callous things people say? How do you deal with it when you are nothing of what they say you are?"

"You learn to ignore them as if their existence is of no consequence," Severus snapped, though it wasn't as unkindly as it could have been. Harry recognized the control in his tone, Severus' attempt to try and reach Draco. Did Severus reach for him the same way once? Perhaps. "I thought there was a strength of character in you that even your father could not destroy, but it seems I was wrong if the pitiful opinions of others could sway you to abandon the Wizarding World."

"I'm not as strong as you are!" Draco shouted. "And despite your unfavorable thoughts on my father, he wasn't a cruel man to me. He might have been to others, but he did love me in his own way. He—"

"He raised you to be weak," Severus said sharply. "And when you didn't follow through with his plan for your life, you showed a strength I didn't think you had! You were becoming someone, Draco, who you could be proud of. Though I must say, I realize now that your apparent strength was only due to your father's imprisonment in Azkaban, because at the first hint of a challenge, a difficulty, you gave up."

"I had no fucking choice!" Draco screamed. "Do you think I wanted to serve that madman? He destroyed my family! He twisted my father into something I didn't recognize after my fourth year! If my mother's sanity could have been saved in any other way, do you think I would have turned to him?"

"Why did you not trust me?" Severus asked and Harry was certain he heard an odd earnestness in his voice. "I told you to wait!"

"How was I supposed to know Harry would defeat him? The war had been going for so long and was heading to such dire straits that I couldn't even hope that it would end, much less for a hero to deliver us!"

"But he did."

"Yes," Draco agreed softly. "He did."

"You should have stayed afterwards."

"No, I couldn't," Draco said. "Everyone was looking for a scapegoat and who better than the son of Lucius Malfoy? I'm notorious, Severus, you know it. You are too. But you are Dumbledore's pet salvation project and that has saved you from the hell that I live in. If I had stayed, I would have been treated like the lowest of low, and my pride just couldn't take it."

For a moment, there were no voices. There was only the dull hum of everyday noises. There was only the roaring of his own heart beating.

"Answer me this, Draco," Severus finally said. "Do you still have your precious pride?"

"So there you are," Draco says and stands besides the opened doorway with his hands on his hips, looking like a disapproving mother. "I was worried about you."

The words sound strange coming out of Draco's mouth, especially when he remembers how Draco used to insult him, torment him and get him in trouble, how he always managed to get under his skin. But here Draco is, standing there with nervous energy, worried about him. Harry doesn't know what to make of him, what to do. Or what to do about Severus. It's all so confusing.

"Harry," Draco says, "are you going to sit there all night or are you coming in?"

Harry doesn't want to go in. He doesn't want to face either of them. He doesn't even want to know why Severus isn't out here, snapping at him to come in. Maybe Severus is waiting for him to come inside. Or maybe Severus doesn't care about him anymore. After all, he's not the Harry that Severus fell in love with. He knows this now. He's not that Harry.

"_I'm not, I'm not, I'm not,_" he chants softly only to himself. "Not anymore."

"Harry?"

He doesn't answer.

_"Watch where you're going you clumsy imbecile!" Draco sneers, his nose flaring and his eyes derisive. _

Harry lifts his tired eyes to look at the familiar arrogance, though it's not quite what it used to be. Draco has changed and so has he. He's not the same boy that Draco once knew. Nor is this Draco, Harry reflects, the same. But then having a father locked in Azkaban and a mother going mad will do that to a person, he guesses. He almost feels sorry for Draco, but he knows that's not what the young man wants. There's no pity for a Malfoy. There's too much pride for that. If it were a year ago, or maybe more, Harry knows he would have retaliated by pushing Draco away, but he's too exhausted now to care. Life has no meaning for him anymore and Draco's not important enough to conjure any emotion within him.

"Potter, I should have known," Draco sneers, his steely eyes looking up and down Harry like he's art or a piece of meat. "Only you could be this inept."

Draco's words go in his ears and they go out. Harry really doesn't pay any mind to them because they're rather meaningless when he thinks about the war that's going on and the people that are fighting and dying. Like Remus, he thinks immediately with a gut wrenching pain, who is already gone. Harry wishes—Merlin, how he wants everything to be over and done with! Only a little bit more than a week to go, school will be over, and he'll never have to see Draco or anyone like him again. It's over. It doesn't matter.

Harry shrugs his shoulders and walks away without saying a word.

He eventually gets up and goes into his flat. He doesn't really have much of a choice. Draco won't leave him alone and the whole reason Harry was outside was to be alone. Now that it has been taken away from him, there is no reason not to go inside the comfort of his home. _His home_, he thinks as he steps in. Is this really his home? Did he ever have a home? Number 4 Privet Drive was certainly never his home, but is his flat a home?

Glancing around the room, noting the bland furnishings, and the distinct lack of a personality, Harry not only wonders if this is home, he wonders who he is. He had always thought that when he regained his memories he would immediately remember who he was—who he is. But it's simply not that simple. He has regained a good deal of his memories, with small and large gaps in different places in his timeline, but most of it is back… yet he doesn't have any better idea of who he is. All he knows for certain is that he isn't the same Harry anymore. But he isn't entirely different either. He still understands things about his past and his memories, because he can relate to them in a way that only the old Harry could.

Like Severus…

It's easy to forgive Severus, knowing how hard Severus is on himself and knowing that even if he doesn't love him anymore, he would still try his best for him. After all, Harry remembers how Severus saved him time and time again when Severus hated him. And Harry knows without a doubt that even if Severus doesn't love him anymore, he certainly doesn't hate him.

Harry's eyes drift around the room, wondering why Severus isn't popping out from some dark corridor—if there is such a thing in his flat—to berate him for sitting outside in the hallway when he should be inside. But Severus isn't anywhere in the main room that he can see… actually.

"He's not here," Draco declares. "He left a few hours ago to deal with Dumbledore and company."

How did Draco know he's looking for Severus? Is he that obvious? "Oh," Harry says.

"Your friends stopped by and asked if he would help them convince Dumbledore not to interfere," Draco continues and runs a hand messily through his hair. "I guess he really does care about you."

Yes, Harry thinks so too. Sitting outside, without anyone around, had given him the quiet space he needed to really think. Things had started to add up. The doubts he felt about Severus have ebbed away. He is now absolutely certain that Severus cares about him. Love is a different story, but he can't blame Severus for falling out of love with him, since he's the one who's changed, not Severus.

"Are you going to keep staring past me all night as if I don't exist?"

Harry jerks his head slightly until his eyes focus on Draco. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Draco responds, stepping toward him and for once not looking too sure of himself. "None of this is your fault."

"I'm the one that was curious, that wanted to know."

"I tempted you."

Harry wants to deny it, but it's hard. Draco had tempted him. But it's not right to blame Draco when he's the one who asked. "I don't know what to do."

"Life is never easy," Draco remarks, slumping onto the couch at the midway point. "If it was, then—it wouldn't be the mess it is—would it?" He sighs. "For what it's worth, I'm glad I ran into you."

Harry swallows hard, his throat really dry. "You are?"

Draco nods slowly. "Yes."

"Can I ask why?"

Draco turns to him sharply. "You can't guess?"

"I want the answer from you."

"The entire story?"

"Yes."

"It's long," Draco warns.

Harry shrugs. "We have time."

"Why did you forgive them, Harry?" Teddy asked. "I wouldn't have."

Harry sighed and moved a rook forward a few spaces so it could capture a pawn. "I _want_ to forgive them."

"But you said you forgave them," Teddy protested.

"I did," Harry agreed and tapped the board. "Are you going to move?"

Teddy scowled and moved his bishop without really looking at the board, capturing Harry's rook with it. "There!"

Harry frowned and studied the board before moving the knight over a few spaces to capture another pawn. "The idea of forgiveness, even saying it, is easier than actually meaning it."

"So you didn't mean it?" Teddy asked, swooping his queen down in a good position that forced Harry to move his remaining rook if he wanted to save it from certain death. "Is that what you're saying?"

"I want to mean it," Harry stated, thinking that Teddy was far more perceptive than a boy his age should be. "I want to be able to forgive them."

"But you can't," Teddy remarked, moving his queen in the opposite direction of Harry's last move and nailing his knight. "Check."

"Not yet at least."

"Are you going to move?" he taunted back at Harry.

Harry scooted his king to the only place he could, right smack next to Teddy's knight. "I wonder how many moves it'll take you to win," he mused aloud.

"Three," Teddy answered. "Well, two now," he said after he placed his rook directly in front of Harry's king. "Check."

"You're too good at this game," Harry remarked, pushing his king over a space and knocking Teddy's knight out.

"Better than your redheaded friend?"

"Maybe," Harry answered after a second's pause. "I played him when he was already 11, and you're at least as good as he was at that age, maybe even a little better. Right now though, I think he's better than you. He's got more years of experience and well… he should know more and be better."

"But," Teddy began and Harry mentally braced himself, recognizing the tone in Teddy's voice as something that could cut deeply, "shouldn't he have known better then? The redhead and the lady? Shouldn't they have realized you would want your memories and your life even if it was painful?"

"They wanted to protect me," Harry murmured, though his protest sounded weak. "They wanted me to be happy. They thought I was."

"But you're not," Teddy said. "Are you?"

Harry watched as Teddy captured his last knight, one move away from end of the game. "I'm happy here."

"Really?" Teddy's voice sounded incredulous, like he couldn't believe what Harry was saying.

"Yes," Harry stated earnestly, having no choice but to put his king in a dead square. "Of course, I am."

"I'm glad," Teddy said. He moved his queen into position that trapped Harry's king utterly. "Checkmate." Teddy looked up, his blue eyes meeting Harry's green ones. "You make me happy too."

"It begins when I went away. Remember that week I was gone?" Draco says.

Harry takes a seat next to Draco on the couch. He definitely remembers the week Draco had been gone. He'd wanted so badly for Draco to come back, to be there, so he could have someone to talk to that wasn't involved in the mess. But Draco was away, and he'd been stuck having to decide whether or not he could trust Severus. In the end, it hadn't been so bad—he reflects—but at the time, it had been draining.

"I do," Harry says.

"In the week I was gone, I realized I never hated you," Draco confesses, his eyes drifting over Harry's face like a caress. "I did envy you though. I wanted to be you, and I wanted to be _with_ you. I was obsessed with you." His silver eyes pin Harry's. "And I want you now more than I ever did then."

Harry feels his heart pounding. "Draco…"

"Hush, Harry," Draco says, pressing his fingers over Harry's lips, "just listen. I know this is a lot for you to take all at once, your memories and what your friends did to you, and now this revelation about me. I don't know what you remember about me, but from the nightmare you were mumbling and whimpering about, it's not hard to guess the memories aren't good. But even then, back in school, I was infatuated with you.

"I don't even know when it started, and I don't know why I never recognized it." Draco runs his hand through his white-blond hair, in anxiety or frustration, Harry isn't sure. "I… I should have known the reason why I looked at you, watched you all the sodding time was because I was obsessed with you, not because I hated you. But I was blind, and if only I wasn't such a fool maybe you would have chosen me instead of Severus."

Harry leans back against the couch. He doesn't know what to think, how to feel, or what to say. But he guesses it does make sense—what Draco's saying—if he thinks about it. The memories he does have of Draco, he can remember Draco staring at him—not in a hating kind of way, but more in a trying to memorize everything about him way, a devouring way.

"I thought about you the entire time I was gone," Draco murmurs, lowering his hand. "It drove me crazy and it was so unprofessional. I was on a business trip, I shouldn't be thinking about anything but what I needed to get done and yet the only thing that was on my mind was you, you, _you._"

Harry starts shifting around in his seat, not really uncomfortable but just needing to do something. Draco's words are making him feel antsy, and he knows that the time is coming faster than he'd like—Draco wants something from him that he's not sure he can give.

"Harry," Draco begins, "do you understand?"

Does he understand? He understands what's coming. But does he understand Draco?

"Harry, at least, answer me this…"

Harry looks at Draco, at Draco's pale face and burning eyes. "Answer what?"

"Do you love Severus?"

Of all questions, Harry doesn't expect this. He doesn't know what to say. He can't even begin to think about Severus when Draco's here, and Draco's the one that matters right now. But he ought to think of Severus in context with Draco. It's impossible to separate the two of them. One invariably affects the other. Harry digs his nails into the cushion of the couch. Merlin, what can he say?

Does he love Severus?

"I don't know."

Draco's eyes depart his face, looking elsewhere. "I think you do love him still," he murmurs in a detached voice. Harry picks up a particular note in the tone that suggests Draco's been thinking about this for quite a while, but hasn't wanted to say anything. "If you didn't, you wouldn't demand if he loved you in the past or not. I think somewhere inside your heart," he says, raising his hand to his own heart, "you still feel deeply for him because the old Harry did and you and he are one and the same."

"I…"

"But even if you still do love him," Draco continues, his eyes shifting back to Harry, "do you think it's possible that you could love me? That you could love me more?" He sighs and his hand drops from his chest. "I'm tired of being alone, of running away. Because Severus is right, I've been running for too long and that I ought to stop and face my demons. But I'm not strong, and I never have been—not like you or him. I need someone to help me, to stand next to me, and I want that someone to be you."

He takes a ragged breath. "I know it's selfish, wanting you to help me. If there's anyone that needs help, it's you. But you have no idea, since you lost your memories, how it feels to be shunned from the only life you've known. Until I ran into you again, Harry, I didn't even think I could ever have my life back. But if you can regain your memories and your life after all you've been through, can I not do the same?"

Harry's eyes are wet. He instinctively reaches out to Draco, wraps his arms around him, and holds him. Harry doesn't know if he's holding Draco because Draco needs it or if it's because he needs it for himself. It doesn't matter anymore, he thinks when Draco's arms cling tightly to him. Nothing matters except this, this mutual comfort.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Draco cries, tears soaking Harry's shirt, "for everything. Sorry for the way I treated you in the past, sorry for the slap, I'm just so sorry for putting my burden on top of your own. I'm sorry."

Harry's hand reaches up to stroke Draco's smooth, silky hair. "It's okay."

He doesn't know what to do, but Draco needs him and in a way—it's good to feel needed.

**TBC**

A/N: Aren't you glad Teddy's back? He's so much fun to write, and such a smart arse! (Think about the way he cornered Harry on the chessboard). What's the symbolism behind the game? Also what do you think of Draco in this chapter? Of the shadow Severus? Please review, even if it's to say you read, I'd appreciate it!

Many props to **Ura-Hd** and **midnightprowler**, both whom definitely gave some helpful comments that I and my betas found quite useful!

* * *

**F.A.Q.**

1. What of the wand Harry got from Draco's collection?  
_The wand didn't work remember? It was Tom Riddle's, similar but it still wouldn't work for Harry and I never said Harry took the wand with him._

2. What is the pairing? Is it H/D?  
_I have no idea. You won't know until the last chapter._

3. Can Harry really forget what happens?  
_Probably not. But he can try not thinking about it._


	14. Crescendo

**AND SO LIFE GOES ON…  
**part of _"The Aevum Series"_  
by Nenya Entwhistle

Thanks to my fabulous betas, Lesameschelle and Ziasudra.

Chapter Fourteen  
_Crescendo_

They cling to each other, holding on as if there's no alternative. That's how Severus finds them, wrapped in one another's arms. He stalks into the room, not bothering to knock on the door, and finds them together. He stands there at the doorway looking at them with his black eyes. It's only after he clears his throat that Draco and Harry notice him standing there, as lost as they are in each other.

"Albus has extended an invitation for you to see him tomorrow," Severus snaps, his arms folded across his chest. "Your spineless Gryffindors did speak on your behalf, convincing him well enough that having your memories back this time is not detrimental to your mental stability. However, one never knows what is going on in his mind." He pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You, of course, can refuse to see him but it would only drag out the inevitable."

Harry lifts his head from Draco's shoulder and loosens his hold around him. "What would you suggest?"

"I would suggest you see him," Severus says, his eyes glaring at the image both of them made together in their embrace. "As he is the last one you have left to confront; however, if you aren't ready for him then merely say so. I will go and inform him that you have declined to see him."

"Harry, are you sure you're ready?" Draco cups his face and turns Harry's gaze away from Severus. "You can always say no."

Harry stares into Draco's eyes. "Aren't you the one who says you're tired of running? That you're going to stop? Shouldn't I do the same?"

"The difference is that you've never really run," Draco murmurs. "But I've been running for more than five years. You could say you're entitled to do some running if you want."

But he has run before, sort of. Not really running away from his life like Draco has, but running away from Albus and his friends, who tried to erase his memories away. This time he isn't, he has already faced them and he will face Albus. Will that make things different? Will Albus finally understand that he's okay with how his life has turned out? That he doesn't regret the past at all?

Harry turns his head and looks at Severus, studies the dark-haired, dark-eyed wizard. He is an imposing figure, Harry muses, and sharp-witted enough to cut into a person's skin. But he is a good man even if he isn't a nice one. Harry understands how he could feel for this man, even love him. It is enough that Severus cares for and protects him. He wonders if it is even possible to go back to what they had. Does he want that? Does Severus even want to?

But what then of Draco, who might be able to love him as he is now? It seems impossible to even begin to think of the old Draco feeling this way about him, but this Draco is different. Even if he might have felt that way before, Harry wouldn't believe him. But this one, Harry can. He himself has changed, so why can't Draco?

"Harry," Severus calls, jerking him from his thoughts, "will you accept or decline the invitation?"

Running isn't an option, and he knows it doesn't do any good. There is but one choice. "I'll see him tomorrow," Harry says. "I need to get my wand back to use my magic."

"Tomorrow at ten, I shall come for you." Severus nods curtly and turns around abruptly. "I will leave you two then."

It takes Harry a moment to realize that Severus isn't just leaving the room, but leaving the flat. It takes him another second to realize why Severus is leaving. Severus thinks that he and Draco are together _like that_. But they aren't, not yet, and does he want to be? He jumps to his feet, about to call out to Severus not to go—to stay—but it's not like he can say that he wants Severus because he doesn't know if he does. And when he looks at Draco's sad, earnest eyes, he has to stop.

Draco needs him, and Severus doesn't love him.

The door slams shut, loud and angry unlike Severus' sleek, silent entrance. Harry's eyes shift away from Draco to the door that is closed. A few seconds before, Severus was there, walking out and Harry hadn't stopped him.

"It's not too late to call him back," Draco says softly. "I'll understand."

"I don't think I should go," Harry murmurs, looking at the door sadly. It's not as if this Severus loves him for who he is right now. The only thing Severus has said is that he could want him, and that's nothing close to loving him. "He doesn't really want me."

Draco drags his fingers through his hair roughly, messing up his perfect hair. "Merlin, you two are unbelievable!" he exclaims. "You two are so different and yet so alike, it's driving me half mad."

Harry stares at Draco, not really knowing what he's talking about. "Draco, what are you talking—"

"What I'm talking about," Draco snaps, "is the way both of you have avoided confronting each other for the past week about the past, the present, the future... You and I have talked, but you and he haven't! And you two _need_ to talk. You'll never figure things out unless you do."

Harry blinks a few times. "Why are you saying this?"

"Because I think a part of you still _wants_ to love him, and until you can get it out of your system," Draco retorts, "you won't be ready to accept me for me. I've tried to be patient and understanding, but the Gryffindor blockhead that you are—you aren't getting how hard I'm trying! I'm trying to be good to you and hope that maybe being good will be good for me."

Harry is astonished that Draco's being entirely open. He can hear the sincerity in Draco's voice, and he knows that what Draco says is true. Unless he deals with Severus, talks to the man, he won't get the Potions Master out of his mind. He'll keep thinking of the past and the possible future and not be anywhere ready to accept Draco's offer.

"I know I'm not as strong as him, but I can love more than he ever could, if you let me. But I know," Draco continues sharply, "that you can't accept it until you've dealt with him, until you've heard him say that it's impossible for the two of you to be together because… because you're not the same Harry anymore."

"Draco—"

Draco waves his hand in the direction of the door. "Just go and talk to him. Maybe you can get him out of your system and maybe you won't. I'll just have to hope for the former."

"Draco," Harry says softly but steadily, "answer me this."

"What?"

"Were you being honest earlier?" he asks.

Draco licks his dry lips. "This is about my feelings for you? The fact I am falling for you? That I need you in my life?"

"Yes."

"I was being honest," Draco murmurs.

"One more question."

"What is it?"

"Do you really want me to go after Severus?"

Draco sighs. "Do you want me to be honest?"

Harry nods. "Yes."

"I don't," Draco admits. "I don't want you to go after him, but you need to. We both know that."

"I do," Harry remarks, glancing toward the door.

"Yes, you do," Draco agrees, following Harry's gaze. "You should go."

"I'll come back," Harry promises because he can, because he wants to, because he can believe that this Draco is trying to be a better person than the Draco he knew. "Wait for me?"

"Of course."

Harry catches Severus in the alley just as Severus was about to _apparate_ back to Hogwarts. "Please," Harry says, "wait."

Severus' eyes, dark and fierce, stare into Harry's own. "I waited more than a year for you to wake up, then I waited four years for you to remember what we had. But you never, ever listen to me, do you?" Severus' eyes turn darker and fiercer. "You are a stubborn idiot that always thinks you know best. If you had just listened to me, just this once, you would have started to regain your memories without Draco's interference!"

"How was I supposed to know that?" Harry shouts. "How?"

"Why didn't you listen to me?" Severus demands. "Why did you have to decide that things worked best your way?"

"I didn't know it was important!"

"I specifically told you to take it with food!"

Harry opens his mouth, wants to say something—anything that will get across to Severus that he just hadn't known, that if he had he would have listened. But there is nothing he knows to say that would do that. What can he say? Severus had told him to take it with food, and as Severus was his doctor—he should have listened.

"If you have nothing further to say," Severus snaps and turns his back towards Harry, "I will be departing now."

Harry feels the words he means to say, means to ask get trapped in his throat. Somehow, with a strength hidden inside, he pushes the words out. "Don't leave."

Severus stops and stands there, waiting for something.

"We need to talk," Harry murmurs. "About us."

"There is no us," Severus says sharply, turning back. "If I recall correctly, you and Draco are together."

Harry shakes his head furiously. "No, we're not. What you saw, it was comfort—it was friendship—it was nothing more than that."

Severus presses his lips together and crosses his arms over his chest. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I don't know."

Curling his lips up, Severus sneers, "This is a waste of my time."

"No, it isn't," Harry whispers. "What we had wasn't a waste of time."

The dark eyes Harry once knew so well narrow their focus and intensity to him. "What you and I had is nothing now," Severus hisses. "It's nothing."

Harry steps forward. "I think it was something."

Severus' eyes bear down on him. For a moment, all Harry and Severus do is look at each other, stare at one another until there is nothing but their eyes gazing into the other's being. Then Harry blinks and the moment is lost.

"I think," Harry begins, "it _is_ still something, and that you did love me."

"You have no idea what—"

"I remember watching you while you were sleeping," Harry murmurs. "I remember thinking that I belong with you, that wherever you are I should be and… I guess that's why I'm here. I…"

"Harry," Severus says in a tired voice, "I don't love you anymore."

Harry feels his heart crash into itself, beating madly and wildly. The words hurt, really hurt. He doesn't understand fully why it does. It's not like he loves Severus. He doesn't, he can't. How could he? He doesn't really know the man. All he knows is what he remembers, and that's not the same, right—not the same as really living it, is it? So why then does it hurt so badly?

"You're the not the same," Severus explains. "And whatever our past _was_ it cannot be again."

"But you said you could want me," Harry whispers. "You said that, you said that."

Severus slowly nods, acknowledging that. "That was ill done of me."

Is that all he can say? Harry's mind screams and cries. Is that all? That it was ill done of him? Merlin, Severus could be a word stingy person when he wanted to be. Why can't he just say he's sorry? Or better yet, tell things as they are? That he never loved Harry, not even a little.

"Did you ever love me as much as I loved you?" Harry demands because he just needs to. "Did you even feel a fraction of what I felt for you?"

Because Harry knows this is true. Knows it all of a sudden when he remembers: _"You're not nice," Harry begins softly, his fingers tracing up Severus' thin, bony chest. "You're not pretty or any of those lovely things, but I don't care about those things. I don't care that your hair is greasy and your teeth are rotten and yellow." Harry bends his head down and presses a kiss on Severus' light brown nipple. "I shouldn't even be here with you, you make me so inexplicably sad. And yet, do you know what?" Harry raises his head and stares into Severus' dark, fathomless eyes. "I can't imagine life without you, my love."_

"Answer me!"

Severus says nothing, and Harry can't stand this—can't take this anymore. For the past week, two weeks, he has dealt with the lies and secrets they've kept from him. He even thinks he has handled it well, but this time he can't leash his anger—his frustration or his pain.

"Answer, Severus," Harry hisses and reaches out to grab Severus by the arms. He shakes the older wizard in a violent, volatile way. "Answer me."

"Why do you care?"

Harry's hands jerk away from Severus. It's a good question. Why does he care? It's not like… or is it? Harry closes his eyes and thinks, his mind sifting fast through all his memories that he has of present and the few he does of the past. Draco said he thinks Harry still loves Severus. But… why?

Why this man who doesn't love him anymore?

"I don't know why," Harry confesses. "I just do. I just need to know."

"You want your curiosity satisfied," Severus states flatly. "But why should I care?"

"Because you do care," Harry gambles. "Because you care about me or you wouldn't have stuck around that long. Don't you think I should know?"

"Why should you when you were never told?" Severus says coldly.

"What?" Harry says, not quite processing what Severus has said even though it's clear and simple, easy to understand. "What did you say?"

"I will not repeat myself," Severus snaps. "And I have wasted enough time. Good—"

Harry latches onto Severus' arm. "No."

"Let go of my arm, _Potter._"

Hearing his surname from Severus' lips just hurts, Harry realizes. It's just so cold and so unfamiliar, so final. It's such an end statement to their relationship. Harry loosens his hold intuitively even though he still holds on. "Severus," he begins with a suddenly dry throat, "why did you never tell me?"

"Because I was waiting for a _real_ future with you!" Severus shouts, his eyes blazing. "Because I wanted you to have something to hold out for, something other than the revenge I instilled in you. I knew," he says, his voice measurably softer, "you were waiting, waiting for me to say those words and I vowed not to tell you until it was over, until _he_ was gone. Then we could have something after, just us.

"But you, you had to step in front of the _Killing Curse_ meant for me. You had to have your stupid, idiotic hero complex. Who told you I wanted to be saved by you? _No! _I would have rather died than to see you taken from me. In the end, it didn't matter did it?" Severus inquires coldly. "Either way, my death or your memory loss, you were taken from me."

Severus jerks his arm away from Harry's grasp. "Now if you will excuse me, I must get back to Hogwarts."

Harry opens his mouth to protest, but his words die on his tongue. He doesn't know what to say and he can only watch Severus wink out of existence.

Harry doesn't want to go back to his flat where Draco is waiting. But he doesn't want to sit outside either, like he did before. Instead, he walks and keeps walking until all sense of time and place are gone. He has no idea where he is and what he's doing, but he's doing something and he's going somewhere, wherever it is.

It's better not to think. It hurts less that way. Too bad he can't.

Draco finds him near midnight still wandering around obscure parts in London. Harry doesn't know if Draco has been following him for long, or if Draco really did just find him. It's possible, Harry muses, for Draco to have been tailing him. It's not like he really notices anything unless he bumps into something or trips over it.

"Harry, come home."

But what if he doesn't want to?

"It's cold and it's wet," Draco says, his voice trembling slightly. Why isn't the blond using a warming charm? "You've been wandering for Merlin knows how long, but I'm tired of waiting for you to come to your senses and go back home."

So Draco has been following him for a while. Harry feels a little bad, but it's not like rain and a little cold is going to do much damage. What can physical misery do when it's the mental anguish that's really killing him?

"Harry," Draco begins again, "let's go home."

"No," Harry says softly but sharply. "That's not my home. That's a flat that Hermione and Ron rented for me. And you know what? I still don't pay the rent. They take care of everything for me. They always have, haven't they? Down to my very life." He throws his head back and laughs loudly, uncontrollably. "I am nothing but a pawn that's been controlled all my life, and I'm sick and tired of listening to someone telling me what to do. No more, no more, no more!"

There's a moment of silence before Draco asks softly, "What if it's someone that just wants the best for you?"

"That's what my friends said!" Harry exclaims, his eyes burning a fierce green. "That's exactly what my friends said."

"I don't want to be your friend," Draco says, holding his hand out. "Will you come with me to my place?"

Harry stares at the hand, unsure of what to do. If he takes it, he knows he'll lead Draco into thinking things he shouldn't be. Harry doesn't know if he feels like that about Draco yet. He doesn't know how he feels about Severus either. It's just too much to take in with so little time. It's hard to imagine, but it's really only been a little more than two weeks. So much has changed, it's rather unbelievable.

"Please Harry?"

Harry hesitates. "To the mansion?"

Draco shakes his head. "No, to my flat."

"All right," Harry says but doesn't take Draco's hand. "I'll go with you."

"Do you want something to eat?" Draco asks after they've sat down on the couch in his sitting room. "I can fix something up for you."

"Shouldn't you be ordering me around to get something for you?" Harry teases because he knows it's odd for a Malfoy to be offering to serve anybody else. But then it's weird for a Malfoy to be falling in love with him too.

Draco only raises an eyebrow. "Harry, you're the guest."

"And you're a Malfoy," Harry remarks. "But then you're not really like your father, are you? I used to think you were, you know," he muses. "Unless you've changed in the five years that I was lost in my own mind." He taps his head and smiles weakly. "It's hard to know what to think, what to do, and I don't know what to expect from you." Harry sighs and drops his hand. "But you know what? I don't think you are anything like your father, not even in the beginning. Though you were definitely trying to be."

"I was," Draco admits. "Weren't you trying to be like your father?"

Harry shrugs his shoulders. "I don't remember my parents. But I wish I did. I wish what Hermione and Ron had told me about my parents dying when I was older was true—that I at least had some time with them, some time in which to have memories of them." He looks down at his hands. "What would you wish for?" he asks softly, randomly. "If you could wish for anything?"

"Can't you guess?" Draco whispers.

Harry blushes and ducks his face down. "Oh."

Draco laughs a little and it's a lovely sound. "Tell me your wish," he urges. "You must have one in mind to ask me that question."

Harry nods. "I wish life was less complicated."

"I think everyone wishes that," Draco murmurs.

"Do you?"

"Everyone likes a little simplicity now and then. Who wouldn't? Complication after complication gets tiring. I know it does. My life has been one hardship after another since I've run." Draco fails his attempt to half-smile. "Sadly, much as your life is right now."

"Does it get any easier?" Harry asks.

Draco shakes his head. "No, but you learn to bear it."

"Do you ever want to give up?"

"If I did," he says, "then life wouldn't go on."

"Sometimes, especially before and even now, I wanted to let go, but I told myself I had to go on, I had to keep living."

"Why?"

Harry smiles beautifully, sadly. "Because someone told me, I don't know who, that life is always worth living."

"I hope so," Draco replies softly. "I'm tired of running."

Harry reaches over and touches Draco's hand. "Then stop."

It's early in the morning when Harry opens his eyes. The light from the windows is dim and weak. But there's light enough that Harry can see the shadows that haunt the corners, oppressing the room. Soon though, he knows, they'll disappear.

He wonders too if his shadows will stop haunting him. He thinks about the lies he's been told, the lies that he's lived. It's hard to accept that this life he has now, that what he has here is nothing but a sham. But he has to, and he will. It'll take time, but he knows he's capable of moving on—moving past this.

But first… he must see Albus—only four more hours to go.

Draco serves him breakfast in bed. Harry doesn't know if Draco bought the food or if he actually made it. It doesn't matter though. It smells wonderful, and Harry realizes when he sees the sausages and toast, that he's starving. He forks the food into his mouth, chewing rapidly until he clears his plate.

"I should have made more," Draco muses, smiling from where he's half-sitting and leaning against the guest bed. "I know you can eat quite a bit. I've seen you devour food before."

Harry frowns, not really remembering where Draco would have seen him eat before. "When?"

"At Hogwarts, of course."

Harry remembers _Draco staring at him with his sharp, silver eyes. How his eyes seem to measure him, judge him. _"You used to watch me when I ate."

"I did," Draco admits. "You had atrocious table manners." He leans forward and his fingers wipe some crumbs from Harry's lips. "You still eat like a messy child."

Harry rolls his eyes and glances toward the alarm clock. "It's almost ten!" he cries. "We'll never make it back to my flat in time—"

"We're wizards, Harry," Draco says. "We'll Apparate and be there in less than a minute." He stands up and takes Harry's tray. "How about I take care of this and you change?"

"Thanks," Harry says, smiling gratefully before frowning, "but I don't have anything to wear."

Draco points to a closet. "Just grab something of mine."

Draco leaves and closes the door behind him. Harry stares at it for a long moment, thinking of what a great friend Draco could be and… maybe more, but he really doesn't have time to think about that. He has other things—actually someone—to deal with first. Harry jerks his head, snapping him from paralysis, and moves like a storm to the closet.

He opens it and finds everything coordinated, organized, and sophisticated. Just like Draco.

"You cannot come," Severus states curtly to Draco when he arrives to pick Harry up. "Albus will not allow anyone else in the Room of Requirement but for himself and Harry."

Draco narrows his eyes. "Is it safe then?" he asks. "Leaving Harry alone with _him?_"

"Yes, it is," Severus says in a tone that indicates Draco shouldn't doubt that he would have Harry's best interests in his heart. "The Room of Requirement is special in that it can fulfill _any_ requirement that is needed of the room. In this case, I demanded that Albus let me request the room." He clears his throat. "I checked it yesterday and no magic can be performed, even wandless magic. Harry will be as safe there as he is anywhere."

Draco still looks uncertain, but Harry says, "I trust him." He turns to Severus. "I trust you."

Severus nods stiffly. "Shall we go then?"

Harry inclines his head, then turns back to Draco. "Will you be here when I come back?"

"Yes, I'll be here."

"I feel a little queasy," Harry says after they appeared on the border of the anti-Apparition wards. He clutches Severus' shoulder for support so that he doesn't fall over off balance. "Sorry about that." Severus doesn't say anything, but he reaches out with his hands to steady him. Harry smiles gratefully. "Thanks."

Severus nods curtly and starts striding away. Harry follows, not really sure what else to do. He feels awkward, gawky, and juvenile compared to Severus. He wonders if he always used to feel this way when he's with the older man or if it's a new sensation. If anything, he shouldn't. After all, he's older. It's not like he's a student anymore. It's not like… he has any reason to feel inferior. He wasn't, not if Severus once loved him.

"Severus," he says, just to say the name and feel how it sounds on his tongue, "can you please slow down?"

It's not that it's that hard to keep up, but it's certainly not easy. Severus is taller than he is by a good several inches, and when he's going at full speed—it is a bit of a challenge to keep up. And it's not like Harry's in any rush to see Albus… to face the coming confrontation. That must come.

"Did you hear me?" Harry calls, falling even more behind. "Why won't you slow down? I—"

Severus whirls around and pins Harry with his sharp eyes. "What more do you want from me?" Severus snaps. "I have already done everything I can for you! I arranged this fiasco, I've helped you gain your life back, what is it that you want? Are you never satisfied?"

Harry almost doesn't know why Severus is lashing out at him. It couldn't be for the day before could it? If anyone should be upset about yesterday, shouldn't it be him? After all, he's the one that got rejected. But then... Harry reflects with growing understanding, it's unlike Severus to bare his soul like that. It's unlike him to be so emotionally honest. What it must have cost him... No wonder he's retreating.

"I hope when all this is over," Harry says determinedly, steadily, "I hope that you're still in my life."

Severus narrows his eyes. "Why would you care?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

They speak of nothing further the rest of the way.

"I can go no further," Severus says outside the door of the Room of Requirement. Harry vaguely recognizes the feel of this room, the atmosphere. It's as if he has been here before, as if he spent a lot of time here. Curiously, he doesn't have any real memories of this place, not yet at least. "But you will be safe here," Severus continues. "I have made sure of that."

Harry nods gratefully. "Thank you."

"Albus will give you your wand. He promised."

"And then I will have my magic back," Harry murmurs in wonder. "I will, won't I?"

Severus grudgingly inclines his head. "You should. You've been doing a lot of accidental magic recently. With your own wand, you should have an intuitive control back with which to practice spells again. If all goes well, I suspect you will be doing magic like you were never apart from it." He pauses, clearing his throat. "It's not something one can forget, to cast spells, even if one has been apart from it a long time. It stays with you."

"But you've never been apart from it…" Harry begins to argue, then stops—remembering something. Remembering _Severus telling him in bed while they lied together that even though they will never have to practice the Dark Arts after Voldemort is gone—the essence of it will never leave them. They have already been marked. _"The Dark Arts," he says. "It becomes a part of you whether you practice it or not."

"Yes," Severus says.

"You corrupted me."

Severus says nothing to deny that, nothing at all.

"I let you," Harry whispers fervently. "I asked you."

"You—"

"It's not your fault, Severus, who I became—who I am, what they did trying to get me back to the way I was," Harry says, knowing all of a sudden all his words are true. It's a gut feeling, it's an ingrained intuition. He just knows. "They shouldn't have, but they did." He reaches up with his hand and touches Severus' cheek. "I am not so different from the Harry you once knew, but I am not the same either." Harry points with his other hand at the door. "After I step in, after I settle things with _him_, will you let me sort out my life? Will you still be a part of my life? As a friend, a mentor, a teacher?"

Severus steps back and Harry's hand drops to the side. "You're going to be late."

Harry takes the unspoken answer. At least Severus didn't say no. Harry turns to the Room of Requirement, knocks on the door, and waits for it to swing open. When it does, Harry is blinded momentarily by white, white walls that surround the two dark grey chairs in the middle, one of which Albus Dumbledore is sitting in.

**TBC**

A/N: The story's coming to an end, so please review while you still can! I'd love to know what you guys think of the story (and so would my betas, aren't they doing GREAT work?). Anyway there is possibly 1 or 2 more chapters depending how the next one goes. THe next one will undoubtedly be long, longer than this one I would think and this is the 2nd longest in the series. Sorry about the cliffhangar, but what do you think of the Draco/Harry scenes and the Harry/Severus ones? And what's the vivid use of color symbolism that I use in the last scene with Albus?

Many props to **Ura-Hd** ( My betas give you many, many thumbs-up. Excellent analysis, considering you don't get many, many A/N's like they do. It's nice to know that someone gets most of everything w/o any chat interaction with me.) _and_ thanks to all the other reviewers! You guys are awesome!


	15. Swan Song

**AND SO LIFE GOES ON…  
**Part of _"The Aevum Series"  
_By Nenya Entwhistle

This is dedicated to my betas Ziasudra and Lesameschelle.

Chapter Fifteen  
_Swan Song_

The robes Albus is wearing are a bland beige color. They don't suit the image Harry was expecting, something bright and startling. Harry vaguely remembers what Albus used to look like, not just from his recent memories but from the past. The beige doesn't suit him, making him look sallow and sickly. Then again, Albus is older now and he looks less than his best.

His face is pale and his eyes are dull. It's enough that Harry manages to rein in all the anger that he wanted to unleash. After all, what good would it do to lash out at an old, worn man past his prime? But once the door is closed and it's just the two of them, even this sickly Albus cannot stop Harry from demanding: "Why? Why did you do what you did?"

Albus slowly moves his hand and gestures to the chair opposite of his own. "Harry, please sit down."

Harry almost doesn't. What good has it been to listen to his former Headmaster? It has gotten him here, stuck on a crossroad, not sure of whether he should go one direction or the other. It would be easier to stay in the muggle world. But a part of him wants magic back in his life. Even though he hasn't known to think about it for four years, just learning about magic again makes him realize he yearns for it. He wants to relearn it. He wants to know how it feels to have powers to do things incredible and unbelievable. All he needs is his wand and that's why he's here.

So he sits down, crossing his arms across his chest, and stares into Albus' cloudy blue eyes. He wonders if he should be the first to speak, or if it would just be better to wait and hear whatever is on Albus' mind. He has so many questions, and he doesn't know where to go after the first—

"Were you unhappy?" Albus asks, his voice gentle though tired. "I never wanted to make you miserable." He sighs and rubs his chest as if there's an internal ache that he can't quite reach. "You've had enough of that in your life. I—I thought I knew what was best for you, but I was wrong. But I don't regret what I did, and if given a chance I would do the _Abdo Animus _spell again." He pauses, his chest rising and falling a bit too rapidly. Albus is winded, but he shouldn't be. Harry knows wizards live for a very long time, and Albus is not that old yet. He still has years to live, and yet Harry doesn't think this illness is ruse. This isn't the first time he's seen Albus look a little peaky.

"You weren't in control of yourself then," Albus continues. "You would have made serious mistakes to your life and your future if you had been allowed to run away. The anger and darkness would have consumed you, but this time—this time it's different. I don't sense the same darkness in you anymore." He rubs his chin and looks around. "What color is the room?"

Harry narrows his eyes slightly. Why is Albus asking him such a pointless question? "It's white, of course."

Albus chuckles a little and then coughs a fit. It is a good moment before he is able to speak. "It's not white for me."

Harry blinks and shifts his eyes to the walls, which are indeed white—a normal color for walls. The only thing a bit strange is how the floor is white as well. "It's definitely white," he states.

"For me," Albus says, "it's a crimson red, so dark it's almost black. I think if you ask Severus what color he saw the room as, it would be a murky green."

"I don't understand."

Albus smiles a little. "The darkness inside of you is mostly gone. Some of it will always remain though. I'm sure your white isn't as white as white should be, but the fact that it is any shade of white to you at all means you aren't the same Harry."

That's exactly what Severus had told him. That he isn't the same; that he _is _different, and yet he doesn't feel like he's different. The memories, the flashbacks he has had, he doesn't feel like he's watching someone else. It doesn't feel like it's someone else that he's remembering. It feels like him.

But if everyone says he's different—even if he feels the same—is he then?

"We're glad to have you back to the way you were suppose to be if Voldemort had never marked you as he had," Albus says. "If only there had been no prophecy, I wonder how things would have been."

"It does no good," Harry snaps. Merlin, how easy life would be if he could just hate Albus. Why shouldn't he? He has every right to. It doesn't matter that Albus is sick and frail. What he did, what he's still doing, it's unforgivable. "This," Harry says sharply. "What you're telling me. I don't want your excuses or your apologies, I just want your reason—your honest to god reason without all this bullshit winding around what you've been doing. Talking about colors and nonsense like that. I demand to know _why."_

"Because," Albus says softly, "I didn't want you to end up like me." The hand rubbing his chest drops to his lap, limply. "I just wanted you to be happy, because you never were."

But Harry had been happy before, hadn't he been?

_This isn't perfect, what they have is pretty dysfunctional, but Harry doesn't care. It just feels right to be with Severus, next to him with those thin, elbow-sharp arms wrapped around him. His head is resting on that bony chest, his lips scraping against a peaked nipple. Harry flicks his tongue out like a snake and licks the pinkish-brown spot. He senses Severus' eyes open. He just knows when the older man looks at him. It's all intuitive. Maybe it's their connection. Or maybe it's just their love. _

_Because he knows Severus loves him. The stubborn man might never admit it, but he does. He has to, to have allowed Harry into his bed. It was different before. They did fuck, but they never made love. Now all they do is make love. And he loves it, loves that. It makes him happy in a different way than he expected. It's not encompassing or glowing. It's something else, something calmer and gentler. _

_Who would have thought that it's been four years? Five actually, since Severus became his mentor, master. But they're together, have been for a good while, and Harry wants people to know though he knows Severus doesn't. What is he afraid of? Voldemort finding out? Harry trusts his friends, trusts that they would never tell and he's tired of having to hide his happiness. Having to hide his love. _

_He's just tired of hiding, period._

Harry is jolted with something akin to a shock when Albus' old, wrinkled hand touches his. He snaps back to the present and his eyes only take in the sight of Albus' worried, concerned face. It's such a contrast than what he expects. He wants more manipulation; it'd be so much easier to hate the man. But this—this middle ground is harder—and he just wants to hate him. And Harry does, a little bit of him does, but unfortunately he also understands. The eye can only peer so far. No one knows but the one under.

"But I was happy," Harry whispers. "I was."

Albus blinks and Harry notices a bit of liquid gathering at the corners, though it doesn't fall. It's stuck there and Harry doesn't want it to fall. He just knows he's never seen Albus cry before and if the old man cries, he wouldn't know what to do. It would be like Severus crying. It's simply _not_ done.

"You had nothing to worry about," Harry says.

Albus reaches up with his hand and brushes away whatever piece of tear that was there. "I didn't know that."

"You shouldn't have."

"I still should have," he says.

A part of Harry wants to burst out laughing at anyone professing to know something that would have made that person hate him. Especially since that someone was Albus, who destroyed his happiness and took away the life he would have been content living.

It doesn't matter, Harry suddenly realizes, if Severus said he loved him or not. It was just enough to know that he does. But then if Harry thinks about it, he knows he cannot expect Albus to know everything. Albus might be the commander, and everyone probably thought he was all-knowing, but he isn't infallible. He's human and can make mistakes. This is one of them. The real problem is that Albus failed to recognize it sooner.

It's easier now not to be upset with Hermione and Ron. They probably just went along with Albus because—because if he knows everything about everyone, shouldn't he know what's best? But that's still not a good enough reason. No one should control his life, not even someone who thinks he might know him this well.

"You shouldn't have done what you did," Harry whispers fiercely. "You should have left me alone."

"You don't understand—"

But Harry understands perfectly what's going on. "You didn't know! You couldn't understand what was best for me! If you had known everything, then maybe you could have made a more informed choice…"

"Harry," Albus says gently and wearily, "I thought you were like me, but I was wrong. You're more resilient than I could ever be."

"What do you mean?" Harry blurts out, feeling like a child but too curious to hide it.

"After all that's happened to you in your life," Albus remarks, "your childhood, the Dursleys…" _A cupboard underneath the stairs, cobwebs, and dusk—feeling unwanted and unloved. _"…then Hogwarts, Voldemort, the subsequent war…" _He never leaves Hogwarts, staying—always staying because that's the safest place for him. _"…then defeating him, losing your memories and magic, my decision…" _Burning rage at the thought of his memories and magic being suppressed. _"…which was wrong." Albus sighs. "It was wrong for me to do what I wish someone would have done for me." He pauses. "I'm sorry."

"_I love you." _

"_I know," Severus snaps, waving his hand impatiently and bending his head back down to his task. "Now can you leave me alone? I must grade these infernal papers if you expect me to join you in bed later tonight." _

"_I really love you." _

"_Harry…" he growls._

_Harry knows he's going too far, but he cannot stop what's happening. It's like he feels alive again. All the burdens, even the darkness in him, cannot stop the _life_ he feels. "I don't want to hide this anymore." _

_For a moment there's a deep silence and Harry's hopeful—but he should know better—life's never been great for him. "Leave, Harry." _

Harry doesn't know what to say, do, or think. Somehow he had programmed his brain to not even consider the idea that Albus would apologize. That the old wizard was doing so was… more than surprising—shocking, unbelievable—sheer disaster. How can he hate Albus for doing what he wanted himself? Unless… this is all an elaborate manipulation. But sneaking glances, seeing Albus' dull eyes and pale face, do little to erase the fact that it was the truth.

"I don't think I can make you understand," Albus says, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a miniature bowl. "I don't know if you remember what this is anymore, but it's a pensieve. It contains all that I could not keep inside me. But sometimes I dip into it to remember again why I chose to purge them from my mind." Albus extends the pensieve to Harry. "You may want to have this for your own use. I have no need for it anymore. And…"

"And?"

Albus places the pensieve into Harry's open palm. "You might want to understand the reason why."

But he doesn't want to, he doesn't. It'd be so much easier just to hate, to wallow in it, and yet he accepts the pensieve. He even stares down at the miniature thing, searching his memory for some trace of this bowl, trying to see if he does remember it. Vaguely he can remember dipping into one much larger than this one. Has this been shrunk then? They could just come in different sizes.

"Thank you," Harry whispers.

Albus nods and reaches into his other pocket and withdraws a wand—Harry's wand. Even before Albus hands it to him, Harry knows this is the right wand for him. He immediately feels the throbbing of magic residing in his fingertips. It's like he's been missing a connection and this is it.

"You're welcome, Harry."

"_You stupid, stupid Gryffindor," Severus screams, his fists curling around the fabric of Harry's robes and dragging Harry's limp body toward him. _This is odd,_ Harry thinks, looking as he is at this angle from over Severus' head. It's like he's a ghost. Actually, he looks down at himself—he is. "I love you, I love you…" _

"_You can't be dead, you can't, you can't," Severus cries hoarsely, his eyes a blazing red. "You weren't supposed to die. The protection spell—my protection spell—was supposed to keep you safe, alive." Severus bends his head down and presses his face against Harry's. "I can still feel you breathing, my Harry." His hands, long fingers, stroke Harry's chest. "Your heart's still beating, but it's not, it's not. It's not." _

_But it is. Thank god, he's not yet dead._

Severus is waiting for him when Harry leaves the Room of Requirement. The older man stands next to the wall, but not leaning against it. His arms folded across his chest, and his eyes as fierce as they ever were. Harry doesn't know what to say, but he lifts his hand to show that he got his wand back.

"So he did keep his word," Severus remarks.

"Did you think he wouldn't?" Harry asks, glad there's something to say.

"I have no idea what to expect from Albus anymore. Attempting to understand him does little good."

Harry bites his tongue. "I know you loved me."

Severus' eyes are hooded. "I never thought that was in doubt."

Harry digs his nails into his palm. "I heard you say you love me."

Severus' eyes flare open. "You couldn't."

"But I did."

"You couldn't," he insists. "You were dead."

"Then why am I still here?"

Severus lowers his eyes. "You should be dead."

"But I'm not."

"No," he agrees, "you're not."

_Harry feels pulled to his body, but not strongly enough. He gets closer, can see Severus hovering and holding him, though he's not seeing from above anymore. He's below. No, he's in Severus' arms. But how? He was above before. Over Severus' head. Is this how he's still alive? Was he really dead? _

_God, oh god, the pain! It's excruciating. He feels ripped, torn, and shattered. He's broken. He knows he is. He cannot—he cannot be whole again. It's impossible. If his mind connects to his body, he'll die. He cannot take this pain. It would destroy him. And so, he shuts down._

_His mind closes and the world goes black._

_-_

"I don't understand."

"No one does."

"But you brought me back," Harry whispers. "You had to understand, understand enough to know how to reconnect me. Pull my spirit, my soul, back into being again. I was drifting, I could feel myself wandering and I didn't know where I was. There was only darkness."

"I assumed your soul was separated when the _Killing Curse_ struck you," Severus says. "That is how the curse kills a person, by severing the soul from the body. But your body, since you were still alive, somehow must have latched onto your soul before it could depart, enough that you weren't going to die, but that didn't mean you were ever going to wake up. All I did was reconnect you, and doing that destroyed your magic and memories because the curse was still in affect. It still had to sever something. And so it chose your mind."

"But you saved me."

"And I lost you."

Harry reaches out with his hand, but Severus backs away. "Don't. You're not the same."

"Does it matter?"

Severus lets out a harsh sigh. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you understood me before, and now you do not."

Harry fidgets with his hands. "So this is it?"

Severus closes his eyes. "Must I answer?"

"Yes," Harry says. "Yes, you do."

"Then listen carefully," Severus says, opening his eyes. "It's been over."

"And you don't love me anymore."

Severus doesn't answer.

Harry turns away and looks down the long hallway that leads to the front of the school. "Draco's waiting for me," he says. "I should go."

"Good day, Harry."

Severus hands him a portkey and in a minute he's sucked away. It's only after he's gone that he notices there was no good-bye.

_He rocks back and forth. There was no good-bye for Remus. He never got to say good-bye. But he wants to. God, he wants to. If only, Merlin, if only he could go back and just do everything over again. See Remus one more time. Tell him how much he loved him: like a father, brother, family he never had. _

_Harry weeps in the quiet solitude of some secluded hallway. He cries because he doesn't know what to do, and letting the grief take over is just easier than trying to fight it. He's tired of fighting, of trying, of living._

_Maybe he could just end it—but Remus—Remus wouldn't like that. _

_-_

On the way home, some strangers asked him if he was all right. He just nodded and wiped his eyes. And he does it again, standing in front of his flat, rubbing his eyes and knowing that it won't do much good. His eyes will still be red, probably even more so. But he doesn't want Draco to worry. He's already worried enough.

Harry hesitates before he knocks on the door. He almost thinks Draco's been standing by it the entire time and it makes his heart feel both heavy and light when the door quickly opens. Harry smiles—and doesn't even have to try. He's actually glad to see Draco.

"You waited," Harry says.

Draco smiles and rolls his eyes, gesturing for him to enter. "I said I would." Harry nods sheepishly, feeling a tad bit embarrassed but not really knowing why. "So," Draco remarks dryly, "are you going to come in?"

Harry blushes and hurries in, stumbling over the edge of the doorway and Draco steadies him by grabbing his arm. "You're such a klutz," Draco says, but his tone sounds affectionate and so Harry doesn't mind. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I am."

"How did it go?" Draco asks, almost tentatively for him. "With Dumbledore?"

"Not bad." Harry pulls out his wand. "I got what I wanted."

"Wonderful!" Draco exclaims and he positively beams. "Do you want to try a few spells then?"

Harry glances down at his wand, feeling the magic at his fingertips, glowing and warming his being. It wouldn't be hard for him to do spells. He just knows it in his gut. It's instinct that has him pointing the wand at a random object in the room—a book—and saying: "_Wingardium Leviosa!"_

The book flies and Draco claps. It feels good to have his magic back.

"_Concentrate!" Severus snaps. _

_Harry is though, and he doesn't bother to regard Severus' words because he knows his lover is just anxious. This ancient ritual can be dangerous, but Harry feels the old magic accepting him, bending to grant his will. Just one more incantation and he'll have done it, conjured a serpent familiar of his own. _

"Serpentsortia!"

_A dark green, blackish wisp of magic springs from the very Earth, summoning one to bind his magic to. Slowly, the power dissipates and clears until Harry sees a dark, midnight colored snake, long and slim, in the middle of the field. Harry almost hesitates when he sees his familiar. It is not as large as Nagini, so he only hopes that it is stronger. _

_He calls to his familiar since he has already conjured it and there is no going back: I call you, serpent of the dark, to help me learn the old ways, to bind my magic to yours, to become your wizard._

_The serpent lifts his head and he seems to suddenly expand in size until he is much larger than Nagini. From behind him, Harry can hear Severus' harsh intakes and outtakes of air. Harry too feels his heart slamming against his chest. What has he gotten himself into? _

_Wizard the serpent hisses, slithering closer, none has ever called me and lived._

_None has ever needed you as much as I have! Harry notices the ancient runes decorating the snake's spine, his name. Gwrtheyrn, let me serve you as your wizard. You will not regret this._

_The serpent draws near enough to raise itself to Harry's eye level. What is it that you want, human? To call one such as I? For I can sense a light in you that is not yet tainted enough to do the magic that I would do. What did you call me for? To kill thousands at your command? Devastate cities? Or do you just want the old ways that have long been lost? Tell me!_

_I want you as a guide, an equal in partner, just as the old ways. I do not ask you to serve me to murder, to destroy, to do any such thing. All I ask is for you to teach me all that you know._

_There are others you could have called, young man._

_But I chose you._

_Very well then, Harry Potter. The serpent snakes around Harry's neck in a restricting way that almost cuts off his ability to breath. You will be my wizard._

Harry hasn't seen anyone in a while. He sent Draco as his proxy three weeks ago, asking Draco to tell them to stay out of his life until he was ready to go back—if he'd ever be. It feels good to settle into his old routine, waking up early in the morning and scrambling toward the children's shelter. It is a little different though. He doesn't make his breakfast anymore.

Draco sends him something he makes every morning by floo. It's rather sweet of him. Harry often wonders what is going on between him and Draco, but it's easier just to think that they're really, really good friends than to even consider the alternative. Regardless, Harry sees a lovely spread of scrambled eggs and bacon sitting next to his fireplace with a protective shield around it.

He whispers: "_Finite Incantantem."_

The orb disappears and he picks up the plate. There are some things that he prefers to do by hand even though magic is back in his life. He still washes his own dishes and clothes, much to Draco's dismay. Harry can't believe that Draco cooks if he thinks manual labor is so beneath him. He shakes his head and digs in.

When he starts to clear his plate, he notices some strange inkings on the white surface of the ceramic. He pushes aside the eggs and bacon that he still hasn't eaten to read what it says: _Dinner tonight at 7:00. My place. _

Of course it is no request. It never is with Draco. It's always show up here at this time. But Harry doesn't mind. It's just who Draco is. If Draco wasn't a bossy, obsessively in control person—he wouldn't be him. And despite this—Draco can take no for an answer.

Harry dumps the rest of the food into the rubbish bin and starts cleaning. He checks his watch and he has 20 minutes to get to the shelter. He grabs his coat and starts running. Why is he always, always late?

"_You're late," Draco says, sitting on the couch with his hands folded primly over his lap. "The parents came late to pick the children up again?" _

"_Yeah," Harry says, plopping himself down next to Draco and turning his head to the kitchen where he smells some wonderful food. "What did you cook for me tonight?" _

"_What makes you think I cooked it for you?" _

"_Because," Hary murmurs, leaning forward and smiling, "you're here in my flat and you have an apron on and I can smell the food." _

_Draco rolls his eyes and shrugs his shoulders carelessly. "So what if I just cooked for myself?" _

"_Then that would be very selfish of you." Draco raises an eyebrow and Harry laughs. "And that would be totally Slytherin of you." _

"_Precisely." _

"_But I don't think you're that cruel," Harry remarks. "I am quite hungry and it is a Friday night… after such a long week." _

_Draco snorts. "I would think my job and my week have been more wearisome than yours. So don't even bother trying to put on a poor puppy face. You'll lose in any and every comparison." _

_Harry shrugs. "So did you cook for me?' _

"_Yes, you pesky Gryffindor, I did." _

_-_

Harry likes Wednesdays, not because it means he's sliding closer to the end of the week or anything. He likes it just because it's Wednesday. There's no frantic attempt to start or end a week, it simply is the middle ground. He guesses he's comfortable with the between because it's where he always remembers being. When he was lost he remembers feeling shiftless, like a wanderer in his own mind. Then when he found his old self locked inside of him, he realized the true meaning of being aimless. And he's still stuck at the center.

And he's been living like this for three weeks later—

"Potter, don't you ever look where you're going?"

Harry snaps his head back the instant he recognizes the voice at the first word. What is Severus doing here in muggle clothes outside of the shelter? It can't be a random stroll down the street, can it? But if he is here on purpose, what could it be for? Either way, the circumstance is odd.

"I guess not," Harry mutters, looking down at his shoes because it's easier.

Severus narrows his eyes and cross his arms over his chest. "Obviously not."

Harry digs the ball of his sole into the pavement. "Is there a reason why you're here?"

"I wanted to talk to you," Severus declares.

Harry sucks his breath in. "About what?"

"About you and me."

But he already made it clear weeks before that there was nothing left. "But you said…"

"I know what I said!" Severus snaps. "You don't need to remind me. I've been playing the bloody scene over again and again in my head until it's driving me crazy enough to seek you out!"

"But you're the one that walked away!" Harry shouts, not feeling like he should be the one at fault—the one blamed for Severus' idiocy. "Not me! I wanted to try, but you said I was different and that I couldn't understand you anymore. You were the one who didn't want to try again, you wanted to move on."

Severus' nostrils flare and his eyes narrow into slits. "What was I suppose to do?"

"You could have stayed, like Draco did!"

"Unlike that creature, I have no need to cling to you for salvation and worth," Severus sneers. "If I wanted you, I would want you for you and only you."

"But you don't, do you?"

"I thought I didn't," Severus says softly. "But it's hard to forget about you. I've certainly tried. You are like an insistent pest that I cannot do without and… I do want you in my life. Though in what capacity remains to be seen."

"And you think I'll just open my arms to you again?"

"I know you will," he states. "You're Harry."

"And that means what?"

Severus' eyes flutter open. "You take in strays."

"_Can you tell me more about magic?" Teddy asks in a soft whisper. "I want to know more, but I don't know who to ask. I'm afraid if I try to ask Aunt Pat, Uncle Victor won't like it. He'll call me a freak, I just know he will." _

"_My Uncle Vernon did the same thing," Harry confesses. "Don't worry about it. Ignore what the man says, I know and you must know too, that you aren't." _

_Teddy's bright, big eyes stare at his. "Really?" _

"_Really," Harry says. _

_Teddy sidles closer to him. "So will you tell me more about magic?" _

"_What do you want to know?" _

"_When do I get a wand?" Teddy asks, staring pointedly at the sleeve where Harry has hidden his. "And when do I get to learn magic? Will you teach me?" _

_Harry can feel the magic throbbing from Teddy. It's a wonderful sensation that he has never been able to feel before. But then he doesn't have anything to compare with his feeling of warmth he gets whenever he's with Teddy. It's kind of like the feeling Dumbedore gives him, and Severus and Draco to a much lesser degree. It almost scares Harry to think of how powerful Teddy could be, if Teddy is already as strong magically as he is. _

_But this Teddy, _his_ Teddy would never, ever be like Tom Riddle. _

"_I think wizards born in the muggle world are restricted from owning a wand until they've received their Hogwarts letter," Harry says. "I have no doubt you will receive it. Your magic is so powerful, I can feel it." _

"_Does it feel like a drumming in your veins?" Teddy asks. _

_Harry blinks. "How do you know?" _

"_That's how I feel around you. Always have. It feels… nice," Teddy murmurs. "It's why I've always liked being around you." _

"_Not because of my charming personality?" Harry teases. "Or my atrocious chess skills?" _

_Teddy laughs. "You know what I mean!" _

_Harry grins. "But no one has to know if you use my wand to perform magic. I don't think the Ministry can trace a specific signature to wand usage. It's difficult magic, to pinpoint a wizard's aura, and the Ministry is full of incompetents." He withdraws his wand. "And I have no problem teaching you magic. I think it's better to learn how to use it so it doesn't get out of control." _

_Teddy smiles so brightly it illuminates his face. "Can I learn to fly too, Harry?" _

"_Yeah," Harry says, "you can." _

_-_

"Are you sure you're ready?" Draco asks.

Harry taps his wand to each spot at the entrance of Diagon Alley with a surety of motion. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

"It's only been a month."

Harry stops before his wand lands on the brick, which will open the floodgates. "Are you not ready?"

"What?" Draco says, his mouth almost hanging open. "Why are you asking me?"

"Because you sound uncertain."

"I'm just asking you to make sure that you're sure."

Harry turns his head around. "We can wait another day."

"I'm fine," Draco states stiffly. "I'm just concerned about you."

"You don't need to worry about me," Harry remarks, his eyes drifting over the ancient lines that divide the muggle and wizarding worlds. "I'll be fine. I'm more worried about you."

"Why?"

Harry shrugs a little. "Because I care, and I know how difficult it is when people think they know you but they really don't."

"Harry, I…"

"You're different Draco, from what you used to show, but I think you've always been like this in your own way. Maybe you were just too busy trying to be Lucius Malfoy's son that you forgot to be yourself," Harry says. "But regardless, I think it's time _they_ know who you are. Don't you?"

"Yes," Draco whispers in agreement. "I'd like that."

Harry smiles and extends his hand. "Ready?"

"I am." Draco threads his fingers through Harry's.

Harry touches the last brick with his wand and the walls vanish—and they step in.

**FINIS. **

A/N: Well it's over so those lurking (and reading) would you like to finally give me your opinions of how this effort went? And those that have along for the entire ride, thank you so much for being there for me! This has been a great experience in writing and I've definitely gotten some great feedback. There's a lot to say in this chapter, and I'd appreciate thoughts on details of this chapter as well as the story as a whole (just so I don't make the same mistakes twice in my next WIP).

There will be no sequel to this. There is a prequel (Snarry) which I'm working on, but it won't be released until after it's completed. My word count estimation is 50 of this length. However, I'm working on another story which will be release sometime soon as WIP like this one. So not really sure when the prequel serial will be completed. But eventually everything will get done.

Final word count: 71k started November 29, 2004.


End file.
